Awakening
by BlackIceWitch
Summary: 4th in Ramble On series. S7. When Dean loses Ellie with one drunken decision in Seattle, he can't believe he'll get another chance. But Destiny has other ideas. The devil has escaped and Michael must be raised. And an ancient foe awaits his chance. The Winchesters can't fight it all on their own. Dean/OFC. Sam/OFC. No slash, S7 spoilers.
1. Chapter 1 A Long Way To Seattle

**Awakening**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

* * *

_**March 2012.**_

Two thousand, four hundred miles to go, Dean thought vaguely as they went past the highway sign. Canton to Seattle. Clear across the country. Again.

He shifted against the door, trying to find a more comfortable place for his shoulder. Sam was driving, he was supposed to be sleeping. He couldn't sleep. He'd pulled the sunglasses from the glove box, settled them on his face. At least his brother wouldn't know that he was awake, staring mindlessly at the fields and roads and towns and forests flashing past them.

The noise of the tyres, the slightly uneven sound of the engine – something he'd meant to look at before they'd left Canton – the occasional roar of a truck as it passed them were the only sounds he could hear. Except a voice, in his head. A hard voice.

_Boo-hoo. Cry me a river, ya nancy._

Ness' voice. He'd only known of Eliot Ness from the movie, _The Untouchables_. It had been an … interesting experience to meet the Treasury agent in person. Costner had sure gotten it wrong. The agent had been hard and gritty and tough and unwilling to cut anyone any slack that he wasn't going to give himself.

_Nancy_. Maybe he was. Now. Years of torture stripping the armour he'd spent his childhood building. Years of pain and losses cutting through all the old scar tissue, leaving open and bleeding wounds in him again. The only relief he got these days was too far away to help him now. And he was getting further and further away from her with every mile Sam put under their wheels.

_Tell me, are all hunters as soft as you in the future?_

Soft. His mouth compressed a little. He'd worked his ass off to be hard, to be strong and now some dick from the past had called him soft. Was he? Soft? He felt. He felt too much sometimes. Was that soft? He guessed it probably was, a weakness he could be gotten through. There wasn't anything he could do about it. Nothing he was going to do about it. The last few years he'd been slowly removing the shell he'd constructed in his childhood, the shell of his father that he'd lived behind, pretended to be. What was emerging very slowly was just himself. Not better. Not worse, he thought. Just different.

He didn't really know how to think of himself, it was easier to look in the mirror of someone else's view to make it out. He understood some things, things that hadn't changed. Family loyalty. Responsibility. Guilt. Liking the music for its own sake, not because his father had. Loving the freedom of the road in front of him. Wanting a home.

Other things he didn't really understand, didn't know how they fit inside him. Forgiveness. The way he felt about his father. The parts that had survived Hell. Love. He'd thought he'd loved Cassie. Maybe he had, when life had been simple and his priorities had been clear. He'd thought he loved Lisa. He'd needed her and he'd wanted her, but he'd realised that what he'd really wanted was the family, the promise of a home. He'd loved Ben more. And neither of those relationships had given him the slightest inkling of what love was really like, what it felt like to be completely himself with someone who loved all of him, flaws and scars and all. And the strength of those feelings, the way he saw her, the way she saw him, it wasn't easy, it wasn't clear to him how it kept changing, changing him.

He still felt himself to be an ordinary guy. Worse experiences and memories than the average guy, maybe, but still wanting what he thought most guys did. He knew Ellie saw him differently. She'd told him that his ability to feel so deeply was what had saved him in Hell. Had made the time he'd spent there worse, but had ultimately been what had kept him intact. She'd told him that his experiences, what he'd survived and seen and done, had made him an extraordinary man. When he looked at himself through her eyes, the way she saw him, he saw that man too. A man he'd wanted to be, a man he'd thought he would never be able to become. When she wasn't around he wasn't sure that's who he was. He wasn't the broken mess he'd been after finding out that he'd broken the first seal, not any more. He wasn't his father.

He rolled his eyes to the left, just making out Sam's profile against the brightly-lit window. Sam was like Dad, more like him anyway. Able to compartmentalise the areas of his life, able to shut off his emotions. Maybe he was like their mother. He hadn't known her for long enough, or well enough, to know that for sure. He just knew that now, there wasn't much of Dad left surrounding him. The discipline, maybe. He'd learned that lesson well from his father.

Sam kept driving, heading west into the sun.

* * *

_Everybody loses everybody. And then one day, boom. Your number's up, but at least you're making a difference._

Well, they'd lost almost everybody. They sure had.

He sat up in the dark room. Down the hall, he could hear his brother, asleep, the soft snores vibrating in the still, close air. Dean threw the blanket off and reached for his jeans, finding them by touch in the pile by the side of the bedroll where he'd shed them.

He went to the bathroom, closing the door. Looking into the cracked and spotted mirror, he could see the lines of strain, shadowed by the dim light spilling through the broken window from the streetlight outside. He turned the cold tap and splashed the running water over his face, running wet fingers through his hair as he leaned on the edge of the sink.

They had nothing. No leads on the leviathans at all. Bobby was gone. They were so far off the grid that it felt like they'd never get back to even the semi-normal life they'd lived only a couple of years ago. A life that included regular showers, actual beds, furniture that hadn't been retrieved from the streets or the local dump. He looked at the mouldy paint, peeling over his head and repressed a shudder. What kind of a life was this? He was thirty-two, living like a teenage drug dealer. He didn't want the high life, didn't give a rat's about new cars or matching décor, but this … he straightened up and stared at the cracked tub, the shredded newspaper that drifted like fall leaves across the floor. This was ridiculous.

He wiped his face on his towel, hanging from a nail driven into the wall, and opened the door.

Some of the stairs were questionable and he kept to the wall side of the staircase, turning into the living room, with its choices of sagging, possibly mouse-infested sofa or two folding garden chairs. He picked up one of the chairs and carried it to the window, setting it down. The front garden was dead, dried grass stiff and unmoving to the fence, the twisted and gnarled old fruit tree hanging over the sidewalk, blocking nearly half of his view of the street.

He reached out to the cooler and pulled out a beer, twisting off the top. What was the point of this? Chasing after cases when they needed to be focussing on how to find and kill the monsters that were rampaging around the country.

In his mind, an image rose, unbidden but welcomed. Ellie's face, soft and relaxed in sleep, her hair a long spill over her bare skin and the white sheets. He closed his eyes and reached for the phone in the pocket of his jacket. He lifted it to his ear and heard the short rings, the call going to voicemail. Off. Or used up. She'd been buying prepaids for the last month, just buying them and throwing them once the credit had gone. It was keeping her off the leviathan radar but it made communication more difficult. He sighed and put it away. She'd called a couple of days ago, flat out with trying to find a new base, driving back and forth across the country looking at places that might be suitable.

"_Hey." He'd been glad to hear her voice, even the tinny, far-off facsimile that came over the airwaves._

"_How are you doing, Dean?" She sounded concerned, and he knew that she'd heard it in his voice, the mix of pain and longing and frustration and weariness, and he'd closed his eyes, telling himself to pull it together, to not lay this crap on her._

"_Fine. All good." He'd looked down at the scarred table top of the diner, hoping he sounded more like himself. "Heading out to Seattle, Sam thinks there's a case there."_

_He could hear her long exhale on the other end, hear her calculating time and distance and come up with the same answers he'd had. Finding a time to meet was near to impossible._

"_How about you? Getting anywhere?" He'd tried to sound more enthusiastic._

"_Found a place. In Montana." He heard the engine noise change, then she was back. "I should be able to get it all sorted out today."_

_He'd thought about their route. They could go through Montana, it was on the way. "Ellie, any chance we can –," _

"_Dean, I've got to go, some kind of accident up ahead. I'll call you later, okay?"_

"_Sure." He heard the silence and put the phone away._

He leaned back in the chair, tipping the bottle up and swallowing the beer absently. She hadn't called back yet. There could be a lot of reasons for that. He was trying not to think of the worst case scenarios.

Sam was only trying to keep him from thinking, from _obsessing_, about Roman, about the problems of the world. But he was burning out anyway, he couldn't think straight, couldn't keep the despair from washing over him. He thought about just leaving now, finding a car and heading for Montana on his own. Sam could handle whatever it was he'd found on his own, he'd done it enough.

He wouldn't. He couldn't. Sam might've told him that he could take care of himself, now, and maybe in different circumstances he might've gone with what he wanted. But the old pull, the old fear, to be around, to protect his brother, that was still strong.

Was he making a difference? He didn't think so. What was worse, he felt like he'd never made a difference, as if everything they'd done had been futile and pointless. Somewhere inside of him, he knew that wasn't true, but it felt true. He let out a very soft groan, dropping his head into his hands. He didn't know how to deal with this on his own. None of it made sense to him. What the fuck were they doing, he and Sam, driving across the country hunting for cases when the world was going to drown in black ooze?

He stood abruptly, driven from the chair by the knowledge that he needed her. Needed her calm and the peace he felt when she was around, needed the warmth and the comfort, and needed her to help him combat the crap that was filling his head like acid-soaked cotton wool.

He took a single step forward, and stopped. He couldn't go. He sank back down slowly, barely noticing the cool wetness of the beer that had slopped onto his hand with his sudden movement. He squinted at his watch in the thin light from the street. Too late to go and get something that would let him get a few hours of real sleep before morning.

* * *

_So enjoy it while it lasts, kid, 'cause hunting's the only clarity you're gonna find in this life. _

Dean watched the road, the traffic ahead, and held back a derisive snort as the words played in his head. _Clarity? Surely you fucking well jest_. He hadn't felt clarity in this life for years.

He knew that it had been like that for him once. What had changed? The losses? The enormity of what they'd gone through? The sense of being a bug under a magnifying glass, pushed this way and that while the big kid holding the glass kept angling it to burn them? All of the above? His moments of clarity were few and far between, and all of them in the last year had come from being with someone who knew him, who understood how he worked and who'd helped find meaning in the meaningless junk in his mind.

What would it take to get back to that place of clarity, he wondered. The answer came immediately. The problem was that it wasn't possible. _You are the reason I've been waiting all these years. _The line from the old song ran through his mind, along with the soothing, intricate guitar that accompanied it. He didn't know how to get from here to there. Nothing was going as he'd hoped it would, when she'd reappeared in his life and he'd gotten his hope back, and instead of getting easier, it was getting harder every day.

His phone rang and he dragged it out of his pocket, glancing at the unknown caller on the screen and lifting it to his ear. Sam hadn't stirred next to him. That was something.

"Yeah?"

"Dean?" Ellie's voice sounded deceptively close this time, close enough that he half-expected to be able to smell her scent in the car.

"Hey, where are you?"

"Virginia." He heard the exasperation in her voice and chewed on the edge of his lip. Virginia was the wrong way. They'd be through Montana before she could catch up. He felt the disappointment seeping into him, feeling as if his bones were being filled with lead.

"What happened?"

"Broke a conrod. Miles from anywhere, of course." She sounded tired. "I had to get a new truck, and it all took a lot of time. Where are you?"

"We'll hit North Dakota in about an hour." He couldn't keep the disappointment out of his voice this time.

"Is the case urgent?"

"Yeah." He glanced down at the map that sat folded up on the console between the front seats. "Can you make it to Seattle? Maybe fly over?"

In the silence that followed, he knew she was trying to make it fit. "I've got to meet the agent in Montana in two days," she said eventually. "I need the truck to get there, so I wouldn't be able to fly until the end of the week."

_Of course_. He listened to the silence at her end, his hand light on the wheel, the other tight around the cell.

"Dean, are you okay?" There was a concern in her voice that hadn't been there a moment ago. She picked up his emotions easily anyway, and he knew he wasn't hiding them very well at the moment.

No, Ellie, I'm not okay. Not okay at all. He stared at the road unwinding in front of him, his chest constricting. _I'm near the end and I just ain't got the time_._ And I can't find my way home._

"Yeah, I'm fine." The words came out without him thinking about them, or meaning to say them, habit of a lifetime. "It's okay, I just miss you, that's all."

The lie tasted bitter in his mouth. He didn't want to screw up her plans because he needed her. Didn't want her to worry about him when she had things she needed to do. It didn't make the lie any better.

"I miss you too." There was a yearning in the four words that tugged at him, making him wonder what the hell was wrong with them that they weren't ditching the obligations and just making it happen. The obligations were what made them both who they were, of course. They both knew that the price of not doing their jobs, not handling what came along, was too high.

For months now, he'd been trying to find a way to have her closer, to be with her more often. Everything he'd thought of had either fallen apart or been impossible to begin with. He'd tried to do this with Lisa and Ben and it hadn't worked out either, although for different reasons. At least Lisa and Ben had always been in the one place, it had only been his schedule he'd needed to think about. Trying to fit in time between what he and Sam were doing, and what she was doing required a working knowledge of chaos physics. It hadn't been so bad before Bobby's death. Irrelevantly, he wondered if this need to be with her, to have her close to him, was being soft. He thought it might be, except that when she was around, he felt like he could handle anything, no job too big, no problem unsolvable. She never let him fall into the habit of just following a plan without questioning it. When she was there, he made decisions, found answers, never doubting his own ability to do it.

"I don't know how long we'll be in Seattle, but we can come back through Montana, catch up then."

"Yeah, that'd be good," she said quietly, and he knew she wasn't entirely convinced that he was okay. He cleared his throat.

"Be careful, okay?"

"You too."

Then there was silence, and he put the phone back in his pocket, and focussed on the road. Another week, maybe. He could handle a week. It had been four weeks since he'd seen her last, in Whitefish. Four weeks wasn't much time, just ten years in Hell. It'd felt like that too.

When was the last time hunting had seemed black and white to him? Simple? He couldn't remember. Before Hell, he thought. Most of the memories in his life were BH or AH … the times before and the times after, and everything was simpler BH in his memories, despite knowing that the confusion and the unmaking of him had started earlier than that.

When was the last time he'd enjoyed a hunt? Gotten a feeling of satisfaction that he'd done the job right, killed the thing and saved the people? He let his thoughts drift back through the years, but he couldn't remember feeling that for a long, long time. _Hunter_. It was what he did, and it was who he was. He'd known that for some time too. His memories of looking forward to cases, of being able to utilise his experience and skills, those were all distant. For the last few years he'd been pushed around by destiny and angels and demons, he couldn't think of any decisions he'd made for himself, by himself.

Hunting the elemental that had been after Ellie. That had been a relatively clean hunt. Well, until the elemental had refused to be dismissed and had come after them. But it had been so overlaid by his grief for Bobby that it had felt as if it was related to the leviathans anyway.

Before that … hunting the crocottas in New York City. With Ellie.


	2. Chapter 2 Can't Find My Way Home

**Chapter 2**

* * *

_To tell you the truth, I don't know why I'm doing much of anything anymore._

He'd said that to Ness, precipitating the diatribe on being soft and having clarity. And it had been true, both then and now. He'd lost a lot of the anger, when he'd started grieving for Bobby. What had remained wasn't strong enough to make him punch through the disappointments and the failures. He looked through whatever he could find on Roman and his businesses, but it was just for something to do, nothing he could find had helped at all and Frank was doing a better job of finding real information. Sam could see him sinking, not knowing what to do about it, other than overload them both with cases. And every day, every moment, he could feel himself drowning slowly, looking for a way out, looking for a way home, looking for any way to get back to where he could feel himself, where he could see himself again, and where he could find something solid to stand on.

She could give him that, he knew. But she wasn't around, wouldn't be around for another week, at least.

The tyres thrummed over the concrete, dusk settled along the horizon, broken now by distant peaks. He turned on the headlights and started looking for a motel. He was damned if he was going to sleep on the floor tonight, and he wanted a hot shower, hot coffee in the morning, some kind of real rest tonight.

* * *

Dean sat on the couch, staring blankly at the television on the other side of the room. They were in Missoula. In Montana. And she wasn't here. After a moment's thought, he remembered that she was somewhere between Virginia and Illinois, not in this state. She wouldn't be here for another two days. He rubbed his hand along his jaw, feeling the rough rasp of the stubble. He should have a shower, shave, become human again. He looked at the television, some prime-time show playing, and couldn't muster any energy to get off the couch.

The motel was only one short step up from the squats they'd been staying in. But it had hot water. And beds. And the bare minimum of kitchen facilities. He looked around as the couple in the room next to theirs gave the bed a workout, the bedframe thumping enthusiastically against the thin wall, accompanied by gasps, sighs and shouts.

Sam had gone to get food. He should've gone with him, he thought. Being alone was getting worse. He didn't want to talk, not really, but he wanted to hear Sam's voice, the conversation blunting the thoughts in his head, blunting the feelings that were careering out of control. He leaned down and opened his duffle, pulling out the brown paper bag holding the pint bottle he'd bought on the way in.

Drinking blunted the cacophony too. Scrambled all the thoughts. But it was taking more and more to get to the same level of numbness. He remembered his first real whiskey hangover. That had been on barely a third of a bottle, two big glasses. He'd sworn off his father's hooch for years after that. Now that wouldn't even damp down the edges, he thought tiredly.

He unscrewed the lid and filled the flask first. Then he stretched out along the length of the couch and drank straight from the bottle.

_And that makes you luckier than most._

_I've had about all the luck I can stand_, he thought. Any more fucking luck and he wouldn't survive at all.

Maybe in Ness' world, in a time that hadn't been run by Heaven and Hell, there was a straight, clear path in hunting. No judges or juries were needed for the killing of monsters. Just find 'em, gank 'em and burn 'em, and you're done. What would Ness do here? How would he find the leviathan? How would he kill them? He closed his eyes. _All good questions_. He hadn't asked if the lawman had had a family, back in '44. Was the man really tough enough to go through losing them, if some vengeance-seeking monster or madman came after them?

The door opened and he opened his eyes, looking over at his brother as he came through, big paper bags in either hand, the smell of hot, fresh food reaching tantalizingly through the small room.

"You started early." Sam glanced down at the bottle in his hand.

Dean screwed the lid back on and tossed the bottle on top of the duffle. "What'd you get?"

"Burgers, fries, pie." Sam gestured to the unopened bag sitting on the small table.

Dean got up and walked over, pulling out the food and sitting in the chair opposite his brother. It was still hot, the burger not too bad at all. He felt Sam's eyes on him and looked up, tucking the bite into one cheek.

"What?"

"We going to talk about what's going on with you?" Sam asked quietly, taking a bite of the toasted BLT in his hand.

"No." Dean dropped his gaze back to the food, knowing without needing to look that his brother's face would be screwed up with irritation.

"Where's Ellie?"

"Virginia. Or Illinois. Or somewhere in between," he shrugged. He heard Sam's deep exhale and ignored it.

"She find a place yet?"

"Yeah. In Montana." Dean dunked a fry into the ketchup and ate it.

"Here?" Sam looked at him.

"Not here, here. But somewhere in the state." He looked down at the pie. "I didn't get around to asking the precise location."

"You want to spend some time with her, Dean?" Sam finished his sandwich and wiped his fingers. "I could just go on and get started on Seattle by myself?"

Dean shook his head. "She won't be here for a couple of days. We can come back this way, see her next week if we've got the job finished in Seattle." He looked at his brother. "I might stay for a while."

Sam nodded. "That would probably be a good idea."

Dean looked at him for a long moment, then back down to his food. The idea of staying with Ellie for longer than a couple of days had come as the words were coming out of his mouth, he hadn't thought about it before. Now, it did seem like a good idea, a great idea.

"You called Frank lately?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. "I'll get a prepaid in the morning, give him a ring from that."

* * *

_What I did when I was twenty-six and came home to find my wife and two kids gutted on the floor._

Dean jerked awake, feeling the scream rushing up his throat and clamping his mouth shut tight to keep it in. His heart was racing, his t-shirt wet with sweat, his ribs lifting and falling as if he'd run up a mountain.

He looked over to the other bed, seeing the massive lump beneath the covers, breathing slowly and steadily. _And thank you so much for mentioning Frank tonight, Sam_, he thought sourly. He couldn't get the man's single personal revelation out of his head, couldn't make it disappear, couldn't unhear that cold voice or unsee the glittering chill in Frank's eyes when he'd told him that. And it had followed him down into his dreams on more than one occasion, additional weaponry for his subconscious as if that needed anything more to work with.

The dream clung to him, suffocating him, and he swung his legs out, and padded to the bathroom, closing the door and flipping on the light and turning on the tap. He stripped off the wet shirt and left it hanging over the rail and put his head right under the running water, over his face and through his hair and down his neck, trying to shock the dream fragments loose, trying to freeze them out.

He was shivering when he turned off the tap and looked at himself in the mirror above the sink.

_You look horrific. When was the last time you really slept a night?_

_Awesome. All Frank, all night. _Crap. He turned away, grabbing the towel and drying himself hard, rubbing the scratchy cloth over his face and head, over his shoulders and back and chest, reddening his skin with the force.

Last time he'd really slept? All night? _Whitefish_. Three solid nights when he and Ellie had gotten back from Oregon. Since then he could sometimes get a couple of hours, sometimes four or five. Usually not more than that. If he didn't get woken by a nightmare, he would just wake, two or three or four hours later, his head already filled with thoughts of Roman and where he was, what he was doing, how to kill him, how to get rid of them. At least the nightmares vacated sometime after he woke. The thoughts spun around in endless, lazy circles.

He turned off the light and walked out of the bathroom, going to the duffle at the foot of the bed for a clean, dry shirt. He reached in and pulled out the pint bottle, staring at it in the dim light that filtered through the motel's curtains. Barely a mouthful was left. He didn't remember hitting it that hard. He opened it and tossed the last mouthful down, feeling its warmth trickle down through his chest to his stomach as he replaced the cap and dropped the empty bottle back onto the bag. Crawling under the covers, he shifted to the non-damp side of the bed and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He didn't know how to pretend that he was alright. He'd tried but he couldn't lie to himself. Couldn't make that mental shift.

Another few days, he thought. He'd gotten through twenty-eight years of crap, he could manage another few days.

He'd thought it would be Sam, he'd always hoped that Sam would find someone, someone like Jess. Someone Sam could love the way he'd loved Jess. He knew that if his brother did find someone like that, he would want out. A few months ago, that had seemed like a good thing. It was different now. But it didn't matter because it hadn't been Sam who'd found someone. He dragged in a long, slow breath. There was a still a part of him that couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe that it was real, not some convoluted dream he'd come up with to ease his loneliness. Couldn't believe that she'd looked head-on at what he'd done, at the mess it had all left behind, and loved him. He still thought of himself as broken, not _as_ broken now, but still … but he couldn't keep believing that when he looked into her eyes, and saw himself as she did. She took away the pain and the guilt, not erasing it exactly, but making it smaller, putting it into perspective, so that it didn't drown him, and left him standing, feeling real and solid and – and okay with himself again.

And he couldn't make sense of it, couldn't understand why he was allowed to have this, this love with its power to heal him.

Ellie knew him. He hadn't kept anything hidden away from her, not even the things he didn't want to know himself. He didn't know why she hadn't run as soon as she'd seen those things. He thought he would've. He'd thought for a long time, when she'd left, that that's what'd happened. That after that first night, she'd thought long and hard about him and had come to the conclusion that he'd always be broken. When she'd returned, he found out that he'd been wrong. About everything, pretty much.

His memories of that time were vivid and chaotic. Rolling onto his side, he found himself longing for another drink, just to take the edge off the mix of pain and raw longing that accompanied them. It had taken them both a lot of time to get past the two years they'd lost. Taken them time to figure out how to make being apart most of the time, and subject to the horrors of their lives in the time they did have together, work. And he still didn't feel like he'd done anything to deserve having this.

At the back of his mind, he worried about that. Worried that if he hadn't paid for it, somehow, it could be taken away from him. As everything else had. It wasn't a rational thought, and he knew that. It came from the part of him that had freaked at the thought of being noticed by God. It came from the part of him that had listened in abject horror when Zachariah had told him about his destiny. The part that believed that he was an ordinary guy and had no business mixing in with the powers of the universe. The part that believed that either he was being taken for an elaborate ride, one that would break him completely if it was revealed; or that he'd handed the Fates a way to get to him that was even more foolproof than his loyalty to his family. Lose-lose, all the way around.

He kept trying to hold back, to not need her so much. When she was with him, it was impossible. But when he was alone, he could tell himself that it wasn't the way he remembered, that it wasn't as real as he thought, that if something took her away, or something happened, he could still go on, as he had before. He didn't know why he did it. It didn't make him feel better, or make the rest of the crap any easier to deal with.

He realised he could see things more clearly in the room now, and turned his head to the window. Grey light outlined the curtains. He yawned. Maybe three hours last night. Waste of money getting the room for that.

* * *

Hiss of tyres. Blat of engine as Sam gunned it through the gears. A deep sigh beside him. Dean opened his eyes. Darkness outside. Taillights ahead of them. He caught a glimpse of a sign as they went past. Twenty miles to Seattle. He wiped his mouth, feeling as if he'd been sleeping too long, and nowhere near long enough.

"Morning."

Dean straightened up in the seat. He pulled out the small silver flask and shook it, unscrewing the lid.

"Is that Bobby's?" He saw Sam's glance in his peripheral vision, ignoring the question as he poured a hit into his mouth. "I didn't know you kept that."

"Yeah, mine sprung a leak," he said shortly. He didn't want to talk right now, the shreds of his dreams still lurking around in his mind, distorting everything.

"You know, most people would just carry a – a photo or something for a memento."

"Shut up, man. I'm – I'm – I'm honouring the guy, all right?" He didn't know why he was bothering to try to justify it. Sam had to know that he was about at the end of the line with his ability to cope. "This is, uh, grief therapy, kind of like you and your wild-goose chase."

"Wild-goose chase?"

"Yeah." He closed his eyes briefly, rubbing his knuckles against them, wishing that they could just stop talking. He needed food. He needed painkillers. He needed … to be somewhere else.

"Four guys murdered in two weeks, hands and feet cut off," Sam said forcefully.

"Yeah, well, some guy with a foot fetish run amok." Dean turned his head slightly, looking obliquely out of the window beside him. Did his brother think that he cared, even remotely, about this?

"Grown men thrown so hard they went through walls." Sam couldn't hide his exasperation. He glanced down at the seat beside him and picked up the paper, shoving against Dean's chest as his eyes cut back to the road. "Did you – did you even read the article?"

Dean looked down at the paper, his mouth twisting. "No, I was napping."

"Well, anyway, what else you got going on?" Sam looked at him. "Dick Roman's a dead end for now, you might as well –"

"Stay busy." Dean sighed, unfolding the paper he held, tilting it slightly to the available light.

"Exactly."

"Yeah."

_And I ain't done nothing wrong, but I can't find my way home._


	3. Chapter 3 Listen To Your Heart

**Chapter 3**

* * *

_"The sword outwears its sheath, and the soul wears out the breast. And__the heart __must pause to breathe, and love itself have rest."  
~ Lord Byron_

* * *

_**March 2012.**_

Ellie looked up at the grotesque house, smiling a little at the absurdity of it. Built partially into the steep side of the ravine, it resembled a cross between a small castle and a prison, the roofline crenellated and the exterior windows slits in the great stone blocks. It was not attractive, she thought critically. But it was strong, and well-protected, and impossible to breach, and that was all she wanted now.

Beyond the house, the ravine dropped away steeply, leading through second growth woods to a barren stony crevice, through which a small river ran permanently. The walls of the ravine rose almost vertically, shutting out all but the midday sun, the small cleared area in front of the house was barely grassed.

She walked to the massive oak door, taking out the key the realtor had handed over, and put it into the large iron lock. The key turned, and the tumblers clunked heavily. She pushed the door open slowly, feeling the balance of the great weight. Someone had done a good job here. She wondered briefly if they were still alive, or if the psychic who'd had the place built had killed them, along with many others.

She knew she should feel repelled by the place. The elemental that had murdered her parents had been born here, of a psychic's will and emotions. It had almost killed her, twice, the first time when it had murdered her parents, and then years after its formation. But the enormous protection of the place overruled any emotional considerations. And she'd never met the psychic who'd destroyed her family.

The hall was wide and long, stretching deeply into the rock of the hillside. The ceiling was high, three stories above her. She looked up and could just make out the carved vaulting in the dimness. At one end a massive open fireplace dominated, but unlike a great hall, the space held no furniture, just a few large tapestries and wall hangings covered the walls.

She turned right through the arched doorway, and followed the hall beyond to a brightly lit kitchen. The room was large and square, with three doorways leading off it, the first to a large room that served as a pantry, the second to a mudroom with a door to the outside, the third to a set of stairs leading downward, possibly to a basement or cool root cellar. A big electric stove sat beside a cast-iron woodfired range. Freestanding cupboards and dressers stood around the walls, and the centre held a large scrubbed pine table, a marble pastry board at one end, a butcher's block of thick hardwood at the other.

She wandered through the house slowly, looking through rooms, the cupboards, browsing the still-full shelves in the living room and finding, from Sam's descriptions, the secret passages that led down to the occult library, the workrooms and conjuration rooms levels below the ground.

Plenty of space, she thought with satisfaction. She needed it, her reference library alone took up two storage units now, and she had no doubts that it would get bigger. She wondered what Dean's reaction would be to her buying the place. He was fairly practical about things like this, but had a streak of sensitivity that surfaced unpredictably.

It had been a few weeks since she'd seen him last, the demands of finding new accommodation and trying to get a secure enough place to set up her network, and the cases that had sent him and his brother criss-crossing the country, precluding their usual attempts to meet as often as possible. She missed him. Impulsively she reached for her purse, and pulled out her phone, hitting the speed-dial and holding the phone to her ear. The call went straight to voicemail.

_"Leave your name, number and nightmare after the tone."_

She hung up, and dialled Sam's number.

"Ellie? Hey, how you doing?" Sam's voice filled her with relief. It wasn't lost on her that there was always the possibility that one day she'd call and neither would answer. She tried not to think of the danger they faced, as much as she knew he tried not to think of what might happen to her, when they were apart.

"Good, Sam. How about you?" She sat down on the couch and curled into the corner.

"Same old. We're in Seattle, checking something out. Have you spoken to Dean?"

"No, just got his voicemail. Is he okay?"

"Not really. I don't know what it is, he won't talk to me. But he's cleaning out the local bars and liquor stores."

She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her thumb and finger. "Sounds about normal."

"Yeah." Sam heard the frustration in her voice, heard it echoed in his own.

"I'm in Montana at the moment. It'll take me about eight hours to get there."

"I know we were going to drop when we finished the case, but if you could make it, I think it would help."

"Of course, Sam. It's fine."

She hung up and looked around the living room. Moving and unpacking would have to wait a bit longer. She rubbed the back of her neck, feeling a wave of fatigue wash over her. She'd been feeling more tired than usual the last few days, although she couldn't think why. Maybe the tensions of buying the place, moving.

* * *

Dean sat in the bar, nursing his third double, unsure of why he was here, or what he hoped to accomplish. Forgetfulness? Numbness? He wanted both but he'd settle for either. He didn't know what he was doing anymore. He didn't know how to make it matter anymore. Roman was parading around as if nothing had happened and they had no leads, no way to get him, no way to kill the sonofabitch even if they could get close enough to him. He missed Ellie, but she was busy, trying to get relocated, trying to find out more about what the levis were up to, and he and Sam … they were chasing cases across the country, no time to stop, no time to think. He'd realised when he'd left Ellie in Oregon that a lot of his anger, that black anger that had been driving him on over Bobby's murder, had gone when he'd finally been able to accept his death and begin to mourn him. Now, there was an emptiness where it had been and he couldn't figure out how to find a way to get himself back to a place where he could feel the importance again. _And I'm wasted and I can't find my way home_. The song had been popping in and out of his head for the past two weeks. It was apt.

He didn't know how he'd lost his way. He didn't know how to find it again. He didn't know what he could do to get out of this downward spiral that was sucking the life out of him. Ness had been right about that, he thought, he was a fucking nancy.

He finished the whiskey and signalled the waiter. A fresh glass appeared a minute later.

"Hi, mind if I join you?"

He looked up, the woman standing by the small table was attractive and well-dressed, her voice clear and articulate. He gestured companionably to the chair opposite. "Sure."

"I haven't seen you here before?" She sat on the chair, crossing her legs and turning so that she looked at him from three-quarters profile.

"Just in town for business," he said, shrugging slightly. "Is this your regular joint?"

"Not really, it's just quieter than a lot of others." She smiled at him and he registered her interest, bemusedly. Put on a suit and suddenly the ladies are all over you, he thought. He tossed back the glass and raised his hand slightly. The whiskey was warming his stomach and blurring the edges, the woman sitting across from him easy on the eye. A small insistent warning buzzed in his mind, but he shut it out, not wanting to think, or feel right now.

* * *

Ellie rubbed her eyes tiredly as she drove west, along the 90. The rumble of traffic alongside kept her focussed on the road, but she couldn't remember feeling so weary on a drive. Only another hundred miles, she thought to herself. A couple more hours and she'd be there.

She flicked through the radio stations, until she found one playing music and listened absently as she drove.

"Well, look at you." Lydia smiled slowly at him. He knew what that smile meant, a few years ago he would have been crowing, unable to hide his smugness.

"Yeah, look at me," he said, shaking his head a little. He looked down at the table, and shut out the thoughts and feelings that were rising in response to the knowledge. It felt like it had been a long time since he'd had a pretty woman come on to him. It had _been_ a long time, he thought. Down below the line that the whiskey had blurred so effectively, he knew it was a mistake, a mistake to think that way, a mistake to pretend that he was as alone as he seemed. He didn't know why he wanted to either, except that the woman sitting opposite him obviously didn't want anything more than a night, and he was tired and lonely and burned out. He wanted no past, no feelings, no guilt or pain or responsibility or anything but physical sensation tonight. He could feel again in the morning.

"You want to move this conversation elsewhere?" She inclined her head, looking into his eyes. He hesitated for a long moment, then nodded slowly.

* * *

Ellie drove slowly along the street, half-blinded by the neon and the bright streetlights after the interstate. It had been years since she'd been in Seattle, and she couldn't remember this part at all. She pulled over in a miraculously vacant slot in the busy street, and turned off the engine, reaching for the map. Across the street, a blue neon sign reflected on the wet asphalt and she glanced at it as she twisted herself over the console. The door opened and two people walked out, a man and a woman. The man's arm was slung casually around the woman's shoulders, and they walked quickly. The suit had almost fooled Ellie, but as they passed under a street light, she recognised him.

_Dean._

Her heart slowed in her chest as she watched them turn to the kerb, hailing a taxi. She watched him stumble slightly, leaning against the roof of the taxi as he held the door for the woman to enter first. For a moment, he raised his face and his eyes seemed to meet hers; she could see his face clearly in the stark white light. But his gaze drifted past and he got into the taxi. She watched it pull away, her chest tight and aching, and released the breath she'd been holding.

For several moments, she sat, in the same twisted position, her mind and body numb and unresponsive. Then she straightened slowly, settling behind the wheel again, and took a deep breath. What had she seen? She shook her head. She knew what she'd seen. She knew him. She knew what he looked like when he'd had too many. She knew what he looked like when he was attracted to someone. She knew what she'd seen.

She turned her head and lifted her phone from the centre console, dialling Sam's number.

"Hey Ellie. Where are you?"

"I'm in Seattle, Sam."

There was a silence at the end of the line. "Uh … Dean's still out, but he should be back later …"

"Yeah."

"Are you all right?"

She shook her head slowly. "Yeah, I'm fine, but listen I just got a call from a friend and I'll have to go."

"Oh." She heard the uncertainty in his voice. "Uh … okay. Did you try Dean's cell?"

"Yeah. Still turned off."

"Oh."

"I have to go, Sam." She felt the need to get away from here as fast as she could. "I'll try and uh, give Dean a call tomorrow."

"Okay, drive safely, Ellie."

She hung up the phone and sat, staring at her hands on the wheel. She couldn't feel anything yet, her mind and body in shock, in stasis. But when it sank in, she wanted to be a long way from here. A long, long way.


	4. Chapter 4 The Question Is Why?

**Chapter 4**

* * *

The phone rang as he was leaving the building. He looked at the caller and took it.

"Ellie?" His voice didn't sound like his own. He cleared his throat. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Fine. I'm fine." She closed her eyes, shutting out the cheap motel room she sat in, clamping down on the words that crowded her throat. "I wanted to hear your voice."

The silence on the other end told her more than words what he was thinking, feeling.

"Uh … Ellie," he finally started to say. She pressed the end button firmly, turning the phone off at the same time. She dragged in a breath, forcing it past the thickness in her throat. And let it out, shuddering.

Dean looked down at the phone and hit the speed dial. It went straight to voicemail. She'd turned it off. He glanced behind him at the building he'd just exited. No need to get completely paranoid, he told himself.

* * *

Sam hung up from the Professor's call and looked at his brother. "He's put something together."

"I can hardly wait," Dean grabbed another beer from the fridge.

"Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you, Ellie was in Seattle yesterday," Sam said as he opened the door. "She couldn't stay, had to go help someone. Said she'd give you a call today sometime."

Dean looked down at the beer he was holding. He could feel his heartbeat in the hollow of his throat suddenly, booming there ominously. "She was actually in Seattle last night?"

"That's what she said. Drove up from Montana."

Dean put the bottle down slowly. A hazy memory lurked behind his eyes, a white pickup, parked opposite the club. He'd seen it. As he was getting into the taxi. With Lydia.

"You all right?" Sam looked back in through the door. "We gotta get going."

He nodded, shrugging into his jacket. He pulled out his phone, hitting the speed dial number and listening. Straight to voicemail again.

"Ellie, it's Dean. Call me when you get this," he said softly. He hung up and tucked the phone back into his pocket, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Ellie pulled into the turn around in front of the house, turning off the engine and pulling on the brake. She leaned her head on the wheel for a few minutes, listening to the tick of the cooling engine, the only sound in the deep silence of the mountains. _One step at a time_, she told herself. _Just take it one step at a time._

She straightened up, and hooked her duffle from the passenger seat, opening the door and getting out. The bag seemed to weigh a ton as she walked up to the door, unlocking it and going inside. She dumped it on the floor and walked through to the living room. Pulling out her phone, she looked at the message on the screen and deleted it without listening.

She pressed the speed dial for Sam's number, hoping that she'd get his voicemail. She couldn't face the idea of trying to talk to anyone right now.

She was in luck. The call went to voicemail and she waited for the beep.

"Sam, it's Ellie. I'm just calling to say goodbye. I wish you all the best, and I hope that everything works out for you." She hesitated for a moment, then added. "I guess you know what happened, Sam. You take care." She closed the phone and pulled a small screwdriver from her jacket pocket.

It took a minute to reduce the phone to a pile of components. Less to smash them into fragments. She swept the pile into the trash can and sat back on the sofa, closing her eyes and letting the grief in.

* * *

Sam's phone rang as they returned to the car from the warehouse. He opened it and pressed the buttons to get to the message on his voicemail. Dean glanced across at him, brow creasing slightly as he saw how still his brother was standing, eyes closed as he listened.

"What?" Dean looked at the phone as Sam held it out to him over the car's roof. He took it and replayed the message. Sam watched the expressions cross his face, feeling his heart sink as he watched them disappear. Dean shut the phone and passed it back over the roof, opening the passenger door and getting in. Sam put the phone back into his pocket and got into the car. He turned the key and for a moment the whine in the engine filled the silence between them. He glanced at Dean's profile, seeing the muscle twitch at the point of the jaw.

"Dean…," he started to say quietly. Dean shook his head.

"No. No, Sam." He stared through the windscreen. "Not a word. I can't …" He took a breath. "Not now, I just can't."

Sam nodded. He put the car into reverse and twisted around, looking through the rear window as he extracted them from the parking spot. The silence continued as they made their way out of Seattle, the only sound the wipers clearing the steady rain from the windshield, the hiss of the wide tyres on the wet road.

* * *

Ellie woke on the sofa, cold and sore. Her eyelids were swollen, her cheeks felt stiff with the salt that had dried on them. The room was in darkness. She pushed herself up, swinging her legs to the floor. What now?

She got up, walking to the doorway, flicking on the lights as she passed through. She crossed the hall and walked down to the kitchen, her muscles loosening slowly. Her head was pounding and her mouth and throat were dry. She turned on the light as she entered the kitchen, going to the stove and picking up the kettle, feeling its weight. She turned on the burner and put the kettle on it and sank into the rocker beside the hearth.

What had happened? Everything they'd been through, every obstacle they'd overcome … why would he do it? She still couldn't believe it, really. Grief lurked, sated for now but ready to emerge if she thought too much about it. She wasn't sure if she should face it now, get it out, deal or let it sit for a bit longer, take it in smaller increments. But it was the inexplicability of it that was rasping her raw. The last time they'd been together, he'd asked her about having a family. He hadn't raised it again before she'd left, but it didn't make sense, no matter which way she looked at it. Had that been it? That she hadn't really given him an answer and he'd started to feel differently? About her? About them?

The kettle began to whistle, steaming escaping from the spout, and she got up, turning off the burner and pouring the hot water into a clean cup. She added loose tea and watched it settle to the bottom, her thoughts chaotic, razor edged with pain that would last a long, long time.

* * *

Dean stared at the rolling road in front of him. They'd crossed into Wyoming an hour ago and the road was empty, the cars eating up the miles. Sam was driving behind him, no doubt listening to some new age music and worrying about him. He'd tried the radio a half hour ago, but there wasn't much in the way of music and he'd turned it off. Now the quiet, and the wide country were making a backdrop for his thoughts.

The truth was he didn't know why he'd done it. It was one of the principles that was a foundation stone of his life, and he'd never, ever rocked it. It hadn't had much testing, he had to admit; his relationships, the real relationships, could be counted on the fingers of one hand with a couple left over. But he'd never even thought about it before.

The conversation he'd had with Ellie, the night he'd gotten wasted and she'd taken him back to the motel, asked him if he was happy … he flinched at the memory of what he'd told her, the promise he'd made her. He knew that it was the thing she worried about. He knew that. He looked down at his hands, clenched tight on the wheel and made an effort to loosen them.

Grief, pain, frustration, that overwhelming sense of not knowing what he doing or why he was doing it, alcohol, the forthright interest of Lydia … they all had a part to play. But it shouldn't have been enough, not enough for him to forget, to pretend, not enough to do something, the one thing, that would hurt Ellie the most. He could feel his mind coming up with the justifications, the rationalisations. He hadn't seen her for weeks, well … at least four. He was still grieving for Bobby. He'd been letting himself slip into the despair that now felt like an old friend. He shook his head, that's all they were … excuses for something he'd never thought was possible for him. And he remembered making a decision to pretend, remembered wanting to forget everything.

He struggled with the why because it kept him from thinking about the consequences. If he could figure out why it had happened, there was a chance that he could fix things, not much of one maybe, but still a chance. The alternative … there was no alternative. He just had to figure it out. What had happened. Why.

He rubbed the heel of his hand over his forehead. It had been hard to go to Lisa, his grief fresh and raw for both his brother and the woman who'd loved him. It had been harder to let Lisa and Ben go, to ask Castiel to remove their memories when he'd realised that the half-life he could give them wasn't enough for any of them, and still their lives were in danger.

But this … he couldn't … there was just no way he could … so he had to fix it. Somehow. He had to.


	5. Chapter 5 Nightmare

**Chapter 5**

* * *

"I'm sorry, Dean. There's just nothing. It's all gone." Sam looked from the laptop to his brother's face. "I can't track her. Maybe Frank …"

"Yeah. Maybe." Dean sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor. Every one of the old contacts was gone. She'd hacked into the phone company and pulled all the records from every phone she'd ever had. Even the forum had been wiped. He hadn't gotten her new address in Montana, and he knew that by now, she would have erased any records that could be traced to her. He had no way of contacting her, and no way of finding her. Maybe Frank could find a way, but he doubted it. If Ellie didn't want to be found, she would make sure she wasn't. He didn't know any of her contacts. The few who'd been mutual friends were dead. Cas was gone, Balthazar was gone. He didn't know any angels who could find her, or her friend, the Watcher, Penemue. Wasn't sure that he would help even if he could be found.

They had no more leads. And he still didn't know why. So there wasn't any point trying to track her down anyway. He put his face into his hands, elbows propped on his knees, and rubbed his temples with his fingers.

Sam watched him uneasily. He'd been surprised when Dean had shown up the next morning, looking very much worse for wear, joking about the night. He'd wondered if his brother had had a fight with Ellie that he didn't know about, but it didn't seem like it. Dean had been acting as if he had no ties. Through the day, until they'd returned the room that evening, he'd acted as if … as if Ellie didn't exist. He'd played along, not sure what was going on, but figuring it was a better way for his brother to decompress than by drinking himself into oblivion. Now, he wasn't so sure.

"Dean."

Dean raised his head, looking at him. "What?"

"What happened? For two days, it was like …," he hesitated, forehead creasing, "it was like you'd forgotten about her."

For a split second, he saw the panic in Dean's eyes, a panic and a terror he'd never seen before.

"I don't know what happened, Sam." His brother's voice was a barely audible whisper. "I don't know."

Then, he closed his eyes and Sam watched his body tense, every muscle, every tendon rigid. When Dean looked back at him, the panic had gone, hidden away, somewhere deep, his expression was guarded again, his eyes shuttered.

"Alright. We'll be in Kansas by nightfall. We'll get on with the job. I'll figure it out." He seemed to be talking mostly to himself.

Sam knew his brother, knew his limits. He was very close to them now. He wasn't going to deal with the situation, Sam knew it had been locked away again, waiting, one of the many unexploded bombs in Dean's mind.

"Dean." Sam's brow was furrowed with worry. "You have to deal with this."

Dean looked up at him, eyes narrowed and dark. "No. I don't. What I have to do is figure it out, Sam. Figure it out and fix it."

Sam shook his head. "I don't think you can fix this –"

"Yes. I can. And that's what I'm going to do. So shut it." He tilted his head back, trying to get rid of the pain that was shooting up his neck.

Sam closed the laptop. "All right. Next stop Wichita then."

* * *

Ellie called the moving company after the first run from Virginia. The drive was too long and hauling the boxes had exhausted her. She was beginning to think that a trip to a doctor might be necessary, but maybe she was just low on vitamins or something. Still, it was all here now, and she was rearranging the house to suit herself.

She slept in the big bedroom that overlooked the chain of peaks heading west and north. The bed was a king, and she frequently woke on the opposite side to the one she'd gone to sleep on. The nightmares were vivid, technicolour and brought her to wakefulness night after night, sweating, her muscles aching with tension, her head pounding. Twice she'd woken up sobbing, the pillows soaked in her tears.

She was letting the grief come, she wasn't trying to lock it away, pretend it didn't exist. She was mourning. But no matter how she looked at it, no matter how many times she went through her memories, good and bad, trying to accept them and let it go, the grief kept on coming. And she was so godamned tired of crying.

It would have been easier to deal with if he'd died, she thought as she leaned against the banister of the staircase. At least then she could have understood what had happened. She'd thought she'd known him, thought she'd known him well. But she hadn't. And that was hurting every bit as much as the rest.

She'd shut down every account, every contract, contact and service she'd had and opened new ones in legit alternative names. And she'd cut herself off from every hunter, paranormal investigator, psychic and witch she'd had anything to do with over the last ten years. It was overkill, although she was cutting her trail to avoid any Leviathan notice as well. Her professional contacts had a clean, verifiable story that she was moving overseas for a while. Everyone else had been cut out. She was safe here, but in lockdown, she had to admit. Still, a period of peace wouldn't go astray, she thought. She needed it. She was in no shape to be hunting, her mind and emotions a mess.

* * *

"We need to clean this sucker when we get somewhere with a car wash." Dean brushed glitter from his arm and closed the window beside him. Sam looked down at his clothes, brushing more off his legs onto the floor.

He looked at Dean. Hearing him laugh had been good. He hadn't heard his brother laugh like that in a while. A long while. Dean's profile was no longer relaxed though. He could see the tension in the tendons standing out slightly in his neck, in the grip of his fingers on the wheel. He sighed.

Dean heard the sigh. He knew Sam was worried. There was nothing he could do about it. He gotten through the last few days, he could get through the week. The drive back to Idaho was a little over fifteen hundred miles. They could make it in a couple of days with an overnight in Colorado. He should be thinking about the bodies, the mutilated bodies that had rung all their alarm bells because they'd seen them before. But he knew that wasn't what he'd be thinking about over the next two days.

Why? The question was the answer, Ellie said sometimes. He had no idea what it meant. Why had he gone with Lydia? Why hadn't he called Ellie and gone to her? Sam had come up with the case to keep them busy, to keep him busy, to get his mind off Roman and the lack of useable leads. He could have left it to his brother, gone and spent some time with her, gotten his head back together, felt the warm balm against his soul of loving her, being loved by her. If the question was the fucking answer it was a stupid one, he thought in frustration.

Twice before he'd lost her. Had he really needed a reminder of what that had felt like? Had he thought that he could treat love the same way he treated death, as if it were reversible? _You throw away your life because you've come to assume that it'll bounce right back into your lap_. He remembered Death's words, remembered the warning implicit in them. He'd thought, he'd believed, that he would have chosen death than risked what he had. And he'd been wrong.

He deliberately flexed his hands again, turned his head slightly from side to side, trying to relax the muscles. The faint throbbing at the base of his skull eased.

* * *

Ellie came out of the doctor's office in a daze. She paid for the consultation and tests and walked out into the sunshine, pulling her sunglasses down over her eyes and turning left to walk back to where the truck was parked, all on auto-pilot. She unlocked the truck and climbed into the driver's seat, pulling the door closed. Then she sat there.

She couldn't believe it.

* * *

Dean tossed and turned in the motel bed. In comparison with the dreams he used to have, this one was mild. But it was worse, in its own way, the finality of it was an anguish that he couldn't face, couldn't accept. He woke with a name caught in his throat, slimy with sweat, tears tracking down his face. On the other bed, Sam lay on his side, listening to his brother's rasping breath, pretending to sleep.

The last three days, or nights rather, the nightmares had come. He'd woken twice to Dean's voice, cracking as he'd called out in the night; twice to tearing breaths from the other bed. Dean wouldn't talk about them, but Sam thought he had a pretty good idea what they were about.

The rasping slowed and steadied, and he heard the faint scratch of the flask lid being opened, the rustle of the covers as his brother shifted in the bed, the long exhale. He couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been woken at least once through the night by Dean's nightmares and night terrors. But there was nothing he could do, at least not now. He'd contacted a few of the hunters that he knew were occasionally in touch with Ellie. All had said the same thing. She'd moved overseas, was going to be out of the country for a while. And that was all they knew. So far as Dean was concerned, the subject was off the table and it didn't seem likely it would be on in the near future.

"I think it would be kinder to send Dean back to Hell, don't you, Sam?"

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, knowing who was crouching next to him, next to the bed.

"I mean, between the nightmares and the drinking, it can't be all that much fun. At least he could justify all that guilt, all that angst, under a steady diet of torture."

Sam pressed hard against the cut on his palm, feeling the slight pain register in his mind. He opened his eyes. There was no one beside the bed; the room was quiet aside from Dean's restless movements. He traced the scar on his hand, feeling the knotted contours uneasily. It had healed, underneath as well as on the surface. Pretty soon he wouldn't be able to use it to shut the devil out.

* * *

Ellie sat in the tub, feeling the water cool around her. The bath had helped physically, easing a range of aches and pains she hadn't known she'd had, but it hadn't helped a lot with her mental state. She couldn't stick to one train of thought, instead her mind insisted on covering a range of unrelated topics, flitting from one to the next randomly, from the trivial to the agonising and back again. She lay back against the smooth slope of the tub and sighed unhappily. She was sure of one thing, but that was it.

She raised her arm and looked at the goosebumps along it. It was time to get out before the water got any colder. She raised herself, drawing her legs under her and standing up slowly, the water running off her skin. The thick towel lay on the end of the tub and she wrapped herself in it, as she stepped carefully out.

She felt unanchored, adrift. She had nothing really to do, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to continue hunting now. The library still had to be catalogued, of course, and she should get started on the database she'd been planning, a reference tool for those in the field. But the fatigue had remained and the only thing she really wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep.

Depression, or a natural course of events, she wondered, uneasy about the desire. For the first time in her life, she had no pressing responsibilities, no cases to be worked, no one depending on her to save them or find the answers or retrieve some artefact. It should have been liberating, but instead it felt … empty, as if her purpose had vanished overnight. She could loll around this house doing absolutely nothing but sleeping if that was what she felt like. She shook her head impatiently. Better to get on with something useful and sleep when the tiredness was too much to hold back.

After weeks of going around in circles, trying to work out what had happened, Ellie realised that she was never going to get the answers she needed. It would be better to work, to drown out her questions and the pain and the loss with as much as work as she could handle. Not out in the field, that was out of the question, but in here, doing the research.

She knew that she was afraid she'd made the wrong decision. That she'd reacted instead of finding out the why. Maybe she had. She wasn't sure it really mattered. She'd given everything to the relationship, everything she could, and it hadn't been enough for him. That on its own seemed to be the key point. He hadn't called her, or come. He'd found comfort somewhere else. And she didn't know how he could have done that. Why he would've done it. And it had taken her trust in him, her trust in her knowledge of him.

She finished drying and walked into the bedroom, pulling clean clothes from the dresser and getting dressed quickly. The soft woollen pants and the oversized jumper were warm and protective. She twisted her hair into a loose knot on the top of her head and pinned it place, then headed down stairs.

The study sat off the octagonal library, holding the more dangerous of her reference books, a large walnut desk and the dozen computers and servers she'd finally managed to set up. The monitors glowed in the dimness of the room, lit only by a single lamp on the desk. She wandered along the row, then crossed to the line of printers, humming and printing articles that matched her search criteria from around the world. It was a quicker and cheaper way of getting information than getting the newspapers themselves, and she'd refined the process as tightly as possible, the bots searching out certain keywords and phrases, returning the information that matched to within ninety percent.

Up and running for three days now, the file on the desk was more than six inches thick. Every piece of publicly available information, and some not so publicly available, on everything she knew or could deduct about the Leviathans. Somewhere in there, or still to come, was the information she needed. The information that would tell her what they were doing, and where, and when. And how to wipe them out.

She settled herself at the desk, tucking a leg under her as she opened her email, shutting out the thoughts that clamoured at the back of her mind, focussing her attention on the screen and the contents. A dozen enquiries, results, correspondence and personal emails waited for her to open and read them. She clicked on the first and started to read, ignoring the faint throb of the tension headache that had been a constant companion since Seattle.


	6. Chapter 6 It's Over

**Chapter 6**

* * *

_**April 2012**_

"I got you. I got you, baby." Nora hugged her son tightly.

"Jeffrey dead?" Sam asked Dean quietly.

Dean nodded. He was tired. He wanted to sleep. If sleep would let him sleep. He pushed away the hint his mind threw out that what he really wanted was escape. Escape from hunting. Escape from the knowledge that people were sometimes worse than monsters. Escape from his feelings and thoughts and the inalterable fact that he had made the mistake of his life, had no idea why, and no means to fix it.

"I'll get the car," he said, turning to the door. "Make sure those two are okay."

Sam nodded. He walked over to Nora.

"Nora, one more thing."

She looked up, her face stained with tears, drawn with the tension of the last few hours.

"I need another tracking spell. I don't have anything to key it with." Sam looked at her. She bit her lip and thought.

"I have something that might work. It's at the store." She looked up at him. "Can you come by in the morning? I have to get Ethan to the ER."

Sam shook his head. "No. I need it now. Get it and drop it off here," he handed her the motel's address, "before you take him. Please."

"All right. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

He nodded, and followed his brother out the door. Dean was sitting in the car, the engine idling, waiting.

"They all right?"

Sam nodded, sliding into the passenger seat. "She's taking her son to the ER."

"I need to sleep." Dean yawned and pulled out. "For a long time."

* * *

Sam laid out the items required for the spell on the table. Behind him, Dean was still face down on the bed, snoring softly. In the shadows, in the corner of the room, Lucifer stood and watched. After the first vivid hallucination, he'd disappeared for awhile. Now, he was back but seemingly content to watch.

He lit the candles at the corners of the map and tipped the herbs, ashes and elements into the beaten brass bowl. Nora had specified that he had to concentrate on who he was looking for – without a physical key, it was the only the mental connection that might work. He visualised Ellie as strongly as he could, her face, her hair, the light scent she wore, the economic ferocity of her body when she fought, the cold practicality of her mind, the smile that lit up her eyes and face, everything he knew of her. He lit the match and tossed it into the bowl, narrowing his eyes as the contents ignited, the column of blue fire reaching almost to the ceiling.

The map shifted slightly on the table, the candle flames at each corner flickering. Then he saw a point of the blue fire appear on it, as the flame in the bowl died. He bent down and looked at the location.

Thompsons Falls.

The psychic's house. He shook his head, wondering if the spell had worked correctly.

"Oh yes, it worked. That's where she is." The voice came from the figure in the corner. "Hiding in plain sight."

Sam refused to look at him. He picked up the bowl and shook the contents, checking that the heat was gone from them before he emptied it into the trash can. He blew out the candles and set them aside. The map was folded over and put into the laptop bag. He inhaled deeply, wondering what to do about what he'd found. He wanted to see her on his own first, but he wasn't sure he would be able to. And he was worried that if he showed up, even on his own, she would disappear again, and this time it would be for good.

He glanced at Dean. His brother was still sleeping, but he'd rolled onto his side, and his brows were drawn together, his arm moving restlessly. The nightmare had started. Sam looked over the table, ensuring it was clean, and turned off the light. He sat on his own bed, and pulled off his boots, shedding his jacket and jeans quickly. He pulled down the covers and slid under them, as he heard Dean's breathing become faster.

"So, what are you going to do about her, Sam?" Lucifer sat on the side of the bed, looking down at him. "Can't just let it lie, Dean's gonna bust an aneurysm or give himself a heart attack one of these fine nights."

Sam rolled over, away from the hallucination. Lucifer made a tsk-tsk noise behind him.

"And don't, for a moment, think I'm going play nice and let you get on with things, Sammy. That's not on the playlist."

He felt the heat rising around him. Just a trick, he thought desperately as sweat began to form on his face and neck. Just a mental trick, not real, not real, not real.

But the flames felt real. His skin bubbling and peeling and crisping felt real. He ground his teeth together and closed his eyes tightly. Not real. Not real. _Not real_.

* * *

Ellie walked unsteadily down to the kitchen. She felt nauseous and slightly dizzy, and she wondered how long breakfast would stay down today. She made tea and toast, and sat at the kitchen table eating it slowly, chewing each of the small pieces thoroughly. After fifteen minutes, she finished and the roiling sensation disappeared. She put her dishes in the sink and had turned on the taps to wash up when the door bell rang. She reached automatically to the waistband of her jeans, feeling the SIG tucked there, and turned off the taps. No one knew she was here. It had to be a very industrious Jehovah's Witness or someone who was lost.

She walked down the hallway, waiting for the dizziness to return, relieved when it didn't. Opening the front door, a speech prepared and ready for whatever luckless person had gotten stuck out here, she stopped when she saw them.

"We need to talk, Ellie." Dean stood in front of her, Sam a couple of paces behind.

Her breakfast rose without warning, and she shut her mouth tightly, her hand covering it, as she spun around and ran for the downstairs bathroom.

Dean blinked. It wasn't the reaction he'd prepared for, and he stepped hesitantly through the front door, looking right, down the hallway she'd disappeared.

"Well," Sam said softly behind him, "she didn't slam the door in your face."

Dean gave him a look of annoyance, then turned back to the hallway as he heard the heaving from the bathroom. He walked quickly down the hallway, following the sounds.

Ellie crouched on the floor, her head over the toilet, hair held back with one hand as she continued to dry retch into the bowl.

"Ellie? Are you all right?" He walked into the room and stood behind her, concern filling his voice.

She stood abruptly, flushing the toilet and going to the sink. Turning the tap on, she sluiced her mouth out, rinsing and spitting until the taste had gone, then leaning against the edge until the trembling sensation in her stomach dissipated. She splashed a handful of cold water over her face and turned off the tap, reaching for the hand towel, keeping her back to him. Wiping her face, she drew in a deep breath and turned to face him.

"It's just a bug. Nothing to do with you," she said, and walked out past him. The brief glance at his face told her that he was worried, but that was all. She had no idea of how they'd found her, although of all the people she knew, the two of them did know this place – it was a part of their history, even more so than hers.

She walked back to the hall, looking at Sam who stood uncomfortably next to the door. She could hear Dean's footsteps behind her. She stopped and turned.

"What do you want?"

Dean looked into her face. She was a lot thinner than the last time he'd seen her, her skin pale and fragile-looking, stretched over the bones, dark shadows under her eyes, her eyes and mouth too big for the delicacy of her features. He could see pain, beneath the coolness of her expression, at the back of the too-big eyes, and the sight flayed him from the inside out.

"I'm sorry … I'm so sorry." His eyes pleaded with her to just hear him out, though he didn't know what the hell to say, he still couldn't explain it, couldn't figure out a way to make it understandable, for her or even for himself.

She looked at him for a moment then turned to Sam. "How did you find me?"

Sam's glance flicked to his brother, then to the floor. "Tracking spell," he admitted.

She nodded once, turning back to Dean. "What do you expect me to say to that, Dean? That because you're sorry, everything's okay again? I'm good? I'll forgive and forget?"

He looked away, eyes closing under the onslaught. He deserved this, he thought miserably, but god, it hurt to hear it, hurt to hear the pain in her voice, and the cutting edge of it.

"How would you be feeling if our positions were reversed? If it had been me … fucking around?" She looked at him, watching the words bite into him, knowing that it wasn't helping anything but unable to stop herself.

Sam looked longingly at the car outside and began to edge in that direction.

"Why, Dean … just tell me why?"

His head bowed. "I don't know why. I've been trying to figure it out but I don't know."

"Didn't I give you enough? You wanted something else? Someone else? Couldn't you have just told me that? Sometime? Fit it into your busy schedule?"

She watched his head come up, eyes wide at the accusations. "No, no that's not-"

"But you think my trust will just come back? That all the broken pieces will just magically reform somehow?" She felt the sudden surge of the nausea again and fought it down, swallowing hard. He was here in front of her, so much pain in him she could hardly look at him, and she could feel herself shaking with the fear that there was another way to do this, it didn't have to be like this … but she couldn't fight it all at the same time – the grief and the fear and the pain.

His face twisted. "I get you're angry, Ellie – you have every right to -,"

"I'm not angry, you asshole! I'm afraid!" She turned away from him, as tears filled her throat, overflowed her eyes. "That was the one thing I never worried about with you, and I was wrong, and that makes _every_ other thing suspect! Christ, Dean, I don't know who the fuck you are anymore!"

He took a step toward her, and stopped, knowing that it was the last thing she wanted from him.

"It was nothing, it didn't mean anything, Ellie." He searched desperately to find the words that would reach her, knowing that everything she'd said was true, knowing that he couldn't defend what he'd done, not even to himself. "I wasn't looking for it, she -," he pulled himself up.

"Nothing? If it meant nothing, then why?" She turned halfway back, not wanting to look at him, but unable to not look at all. "What the hell were you looking for?"

She belatedly reconstructed his last sentence before he could answer. "She came onto you? And you just went along?" She shook her head, her imagination thrusting images at her, images she didn't want to look at, didn't want to know about.

He couldn't answer. He didn't know why he'd gone, why the whole incident had seemed outside of everything, even the next day, it was as if he were in a dream, where nothing had consequences, nothing was real. Not really, not enough to be able to explain it here and now.

"Tell me what to do, Ellie," he said, his voice deepened then broke as he realised that he was going to lose her, he _was_ losing her, "tell me how to fix it, tell me how to make it right."

She turned around then, her cheeks wet and her lids swollen, and in her eyes so much sadness that he felt himself breaking inside, knowing already that he wasn't losing her, he'd already lost her. "I can't."

He shook his head, reaching for denial, and took a tentative step toward her. "Don't … Ellie, don't say it's over, don't tell me that I broke this beyond repair. There has to be something, something I can do, something …"

She closed her eyes, shutting out the anguish in his eyes, in his voice. Her emotions deserted her abruptly, leaving her empty and tired. She rubbed her fingertips over her temples. "I … I can't give you any more than I have, Dean. I gave you everything I am. I trusted you."

He stepped back, stumbling slightly as if he'd been hit, as he heard the finality in her voice.

She opened her eyes and the emotion had gone from them, he couldn't see the pain anymore, or the fear. She looked at him as if he were a stranger, as if nothing had ever happened between them. "You need to leave. I don't want you here. I don't want to see you, Dean, I don't know you anymore."

Each word was clear in his head, a hammer blow against his heart. In between them, he heard another word, a word that was really what this meant. Over. She didn't love him anymore. That was gone. He was still standing. He was still breathing. Pain had flowered in his chest and he could feel it spreading through him, slowly at first, and then faster, tentacles reaching through his veins and nerves until what he felt was that maybe he was finally dying, because the pain was so intense, so widespread, it didn't seem like he could survive it. It would be a relief. To let everything go. To lie down and not have to think, not have to feel, not have to live.

She turned away, walking past Sam to the living room, closing the door behind her. Sam looked at his brother, cringing at the expression on Dean's face. He'd seen Dean's heartbreak after he'd let go of Lisa and Ben, but he realised abruptly that hadn't been devastation. That had just been sorrow.

"Come on." He walked over, gripping his brother's arm above the elbow and turning him. "We gotta go."

Dean walked outside with him, got into the passenger side of the car, staring straight ahead as Sam got into the driver's seat. The engine turned over and Sam turned the wheel, following the turn around back to the driveway. He glanced at Dean every few minutes, but his brother hadn't moved, hadn't even blinked so far as he could tell.

"Well, that went well," Lucifer said from the back seat. Sam's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.

* * *

_**Pasco, Washington. 2 days later.**_

_Everybody leaves you, Dean. You notice? You ever ask yourself why? Maybe it's not them. Maybe, it's you._

He closed his eyes, shoved the memory away, and looked down at the gun he was cleaning, noticing suddenly that the magazine was still in place. Clearing it, he set the piece on the bed beside him and looked down at his hands, seeing the fine tremble in his fingers.

The door to the room opened, and his brother walked in, two large paper sacks of food in his hands. Sam glanced at Dean as he walked past, stopping as his gaze sharpened.

"You alright?"

Dean bowed his head, a half-smile twisting his lips. "No. No, Sam, I am not alright."

Sam put the food down on the table and pulled out a chair, sitting down in front of him.

Dean looked up at him for a moment, then away. "I really blew it, didn't I?"

Sam chewed on the corner of his lip, not sure if he should be bracing and optimistic, or cruel but realistic with him. "I don't really understand what happened, man."

"Neither do I." Dean's voice was soft, filled with misery. He remembered wanting to be away from Sam, so that his brother wouldn't have to watch him get well and truly loaded. He remembered waiting for the whiskey to start to drown out the thoughts, shut down the feelings. He remembered thinking it had been a long time since a pretty woman had come onto him. He remembered telling her that he was investment banker, and maybe it had been then that he'd started to buy his own cover, pretend that he wasn't who he was, that for a short time he was someone else.

"All that anger I had after Bobby died … when I got through the grief, or some of at least, with Ellie, it disappeared." He stared at the floor, thinking of what Ness had said to him about hunting. "It felt like I didn't have anything left to keep going with."

"But Ellie …" Sam's brows drew together as he tried to make sense of what Dean was saying.

"Yeah." He looked up, his eyes cold and bleak. "I-I wondered, when I was trying to figure it out, I wondered if I did it deliberately, to sabotage what I had. I don't think I did. I don't think I would have done that to her."

Sam looked away. He'd wondered that himself, the next day, watching his brother behave as if nothing unusual had happened.

"Why would you sabotage it, Dean?" he asked quietly. "You were happy with her, I know you were. I've never seen you like that, not with anyone, not on your own."

Dean was silent for a few minutes, looking down at his hands. Sam wondered if he'd pushed too hard, if this was something his brother wasn't willing to talk about.

"Sometimes it felt … like I didn't deserve it, Sammy," his voice was low, uncertain. He looked up at Sam, and his face was vulnerable, his eyes wide. "You know, I wanted you to be happy, I wanted you to have someone, get out, not have to face this crap anymore … but I never saw that for myself." His mouth twisted slightly. "And that was okay, I understood that, I was okay with that … until I saw that maybe it was possible for me too."

Sam felt his heart twist as he watched his brother struggling with his feelings, knowing that he floundered between what he desperately wanted and the fact that he thought he could never have it, could never deserve it. "Dean, you remember that wishing well, in Concrete? The giant teddy bear?"

Dean nodded, frowning a little at the diversion.

"You remember asking me what I wished for?"

"Yeah, Lilith's head on a plate."

Sam shook his head. "I told you that, but what I wished for was for you to just be happy." His mouth curled slightly, one shoulder lifting in a shrug. "I didn't throw any money in, but I wished it."

He drew in a deep breath. "All my life, you've been between me and whatever was out there. The monsters, the dangers, the disappointments, even Dad, when he got tanked and couldn't stop it from spilling onto us. My whole life you've protected me, had my back – you gave up your soul for me, Dean; you were there, every time. And it might have been what you thought you were, might have been how you saw yourself. But it also took away your dreams, your life. I thought you going to Lisa was the right thing. It wasn't until I saw you with Ellie, at Bobby's, that I realised how wrong that had been. That was the first time I think I could see what your life could be like."

Dean looked away, his chest and throat tight and closed.

"If you fucked this up, because of me, so that things would go back to the way they were, Dean, I swear, I will kill you myself." Sam looked at him seriously.

"I didn't, Sammy." He looked at his brother, face twisted in confusion. "I don't think I did."

* * *

_I know how dead you are inside. How worthless you feel. I know how you look into a mirror... and hate what you see._

He lay on the bed, the pillow dragged over his shoulder and under his cheek, feeling the tears as they rolled down his face, feeling the wetness under his chin where they soaked into the cloth and foam. The pain was endless.

It had been a while since he'd felt worthless, the time he'd spent with her had been slowly changing those feelings, he couldn't look into her eyes, and see the love she had for him, and still feel that way. It was impossible.

He hadn't been able to look into a mirror since he'd left her house. He couldn't see what she'd seen him anymore. He kept seeing her face, thin and anguished, telling him that he'd broken her trust, broken her heart, and loathing poured over him, like a wash of black oil, staining him and covering him and suffocating him and drowning him.

He wanted to take it all back, turn back the clock, make it unhappen. He'd thought he'd suffered when she'd disappeared, after the archangel's attack. That had been nothing like this, that had been someone else's decision and he'd just had to live with the fallout. This was … he'd done this. It lay squarely on him and it was tearing him apart that what he had done, in a moment's drunken choice, had hurt her so much that she'd had to give up on him, on them.

Drinking made it worse. In between the time he started to feel it, and the time he lost consciousness, he had no armour at all against the vitriol that lurked in his mind and memories.

_Work hard, that'll save you. Only work will see you through this_. The line was from movie he'd seen sometime. Working helped a bit. Helped to back it off. But sooner or later, there was a motel room, or miles of empty road in front of him and it would come back, not enough to kill him, just enough to cripple him, in a way that would last forever.


	7. Chapter 7 Dream A Little Dream

**Chapter 7**

* * *

_**April, 2012. Somewhere between Indiana and Colorado.**_

"Sam can't control the hallucinations anymore." Dean stared ahead, watching the road, the white lines rushing by in a blur of speed. "He hasn't slept in … I don't know … three or four days."

"What changed?"

"I don't know. He was using the pain in his hand, I guess it healed up." He glanced sideways at her. Despite the problems, the worry he was feeling, he was aware that he'd relaxed, that he felt hopeful for the first time in weeks. The woman sitting beside him had that effect on him, had always had that effect on him. He wasn't sure why she was sitting next to him, in the car with him, but he didn't want to question it. He felt alive again.

She shook her head, frowning. "But the reintegration was going well – he said that he felt like he'd paid his dues, he was able to move on. Why would the hallucinations return if that was the case?"

"I don't know." He looked ahead again, realising he hadn't taken that into account. "I don't know, Ellie."

Ellie turned to look at his profile. "None of this makes sense."

"No." He looked at her. "He blames me, for putting his soul back. He's right to."

She rolled her eyes. "Again with this? Really? If this was caused by his soul, he sure took a long time to start bleeding! That's bullshit, Dean. This has nothing to do with putting his soul back. Hallucinations don't cause insomnia, at least not in the sense you're talking about."

"Then what is it?"

"If he's not sleeping, then that alone can trigger a psychotic break," she paused, thinking through the little she knew of psychological dysfunctions. "Did the insomnia come first or the hallucinations?"

"The hallucinations. He says that Lucifer won't let him sleep."

"Obviously he's tried sedatives?"

"He says they don't touch it." He sensed her concentration, thoughts churning in her mind. "What do you think?"

"You're not going to like it," she warned him.

He shrugged. "I don't like any of it."

"There's an outside chance that Lucifer piggy-backed his way out of the Cage on Sam's soul," she said slowly. "But it doesn't explain why pain would have sent him away if he was there in Sam's head."

Dean was silent for a moment. "You're right. I really don't like it."

"Exactly how is the question." Ellie rubbed her eyes. "Angels don't have souls. But then again the vessel was gone, and they don't have bodies either."

"What the hell can we do about it?" His fingers tightened on the wheel in frustration. "Can we exorcise an angel?"

"No." She bit her lip, shuffling through all the information she'd learned about angels in the last five years. There was something, not an exorcism but something else. "Maybe. I don't know. I can try to find out, but I don't know that it will help in time."

"Try. Please." He glanced at her again as she nodded, noticing suddenly that her hair was loose, falling over her shoulders and down her back, gleaming softly in the dim light. She usually wore it plaited back, he'd seen it loose a couple of times, in all the years he'd known her in the day, but it was always loose at night, in bed.

"How are you doing with Frank?" she asked. He shut the thought away.

"Frank's been taken. The Leviathans are the most likely suspects." Dean sighed. "Something else we have to find out about as soon as Sam's okay."

"Was he getting too close?"

"I guess so." He thought about the last couple of conversations. "To what, I have no idea. He said that Roman was funding an archaeological dig, had bought a factory in Saudi Arabia, a fishery in Jakarta, opened another one of the toxic restaurants in Butte, was buying up real estate in Oregon … how that's all supposed to fit together is anyone's guess." He looked over at her. "Oh, and the Leviathan we met in Portland said that we've got it all wrong – the Leviathans are actually trying to cure cancer."

Ellie blinked, turning to look at him. "Cure cancer?"

"That's what he said. They're building research centres. Not interested in killing people any more."

"Uh huh. Did it mention the reason for the change of heart?" she asked. "Or the connection between the overseas investments? Or what Roman is looking for at the dig?"

"Nope."

"I've got six servers hunting for information full time. And while a lot of stuff has come up in relation to what Roman is doing generally, connecting the dots has so far been impossible."

"That's what Frank said." Dean's mouth compressed. "Just before he disappeared."

"That's reassuring."

He looked at her, feeling his chest tighten as he remembered that she was alone. "You're safe, right? In that house?"

"The house is okay." She looked down, stretching out her legs awkwardly in the small well. "I'm routing the information through about a hundred and sixteen countries, and several Defence and civil satellites. I don't think they can track it."

He looked back at the road, breathing deeply. "So long as you're safe."

"Safe as anyone, I guess. Safer than most." She shrugged. "I think that Frank might have been on the wrong track with the number."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not convinced it was coordinates, even though they are building something there – research centre or Soylent Green factory, it hardly matters." She looked out at the road unrolling ahead of them. "I might be wrong."

"Your track record is pretty impressive."

She smiled suddenly, turning to him. He could see it see it from the corner of his eye, and he wished he could just look at her for a long, long moment, fix that smile into his memory, with the others. Sometimes it seemed to him that those memories were all that were keeping him sane. The pain hadn't diminished, but he'd been using it, using it to keep going, a goad to replace the anger he'd lost.

"Garbage in, garbage out, Dean. Without enough information, I'm just feeling around in the dark."

"Welcome to my world."

The headlights lit up the road ahead, and had narrowed their existence to the straight line of black and white, and the interior of the car. The rumble of the engine and the regular thrum of the tyres over the asphalt surrounded them in a cocoon of sound, not so loud that they couldn't hear over it, but insulating them from the outside world as effectively as the night and the lights.

"How have you been, really?" she asked him quietly. He thought about that, thought about brushing it off, giving her a glib answer, or giving her the lot, no sugar coating, no bullshit.

"I don't know how to deal with all this crap, Ellie." He felt the usual fear inside, the fear of being vulnerable, the fear of giving someone else too much ammunition. But it was muted, damped down, because he knew that she wouldn't use it against him, no matter what was wrong between them, his trust in her was intact.

"For awhile, it felt like Sam was going okay, then that fell apart. He tells me straight out what's going on, that's something, right? That he's not hiding it anymore? But there's still nothing I can do about it," he paused for a long moment. "And I can't tell him what's going on with me, I can't tell him about … you know – there's nothing he can do about it, and he's got too much of his own mess."

He laughed shakily. "Sometimes it feels as if we're both going to end up in a mental ward, side by side, for life."

She sat silently, watching the road, waiting for him to tell her.

"I can't get past this stuff with Cas." He shook his head. "It feels … it feels as if I've lost the ability to trust anyone." _Except you_, he wanted to add but couldn't.

"Because he didn't tell you what he was doing?"

"Partly, I guess. Because he didn't trust me to understand, to help him."

"But you didn't trust him. You didn't want to help him, at least not in the way that he thought he needed."

"Yeah. Well." He rubbed his hand along the rough stubble on his jaw. "He was going to open Purgatory."

"That's not the critical point, Dean." She shifted in the seat, putting her back against the door and facing him. "Cas didn't tell you because he knew you wouldn't approve, wouldn't help him. You felt betrayed by him because he didn't tell you, because you felt that the trust between you had gone."

He frowned, not understanding. She saw it, and reviewed her thoughts.

"You've always questioned your moral compass. For years, you relied on Sam to double-check what your feelings were on that aspect. Then Sam lost his soul and you had to rely on yourself, but you also turned to Cas at that time, using him to check your thoughts and actions as well. When it turned out that Cas was susceptible to pride, and not the guide you thought he was, it was that betrayal that killed your trust, not what he'd done, or what he'd said, but the fact that you couldn't rely on him to be morally incorrupt anymore."

He thought about it. She was right. He hadn't wanted to hear about what Cas was trying to do, saving the world, saving people, he'd only wanted him to do it the right way, and he'd been devastated when he realised that Cas would take any way to get the end result.

"Your own moral compass has always been perfect, Dean. Ethically, legally, not so much, but morally you're very clear, you know what the right thing to do is, and you do it even when tactically or strategically it doesn't work out. You will always make the right choices morally. No matter what the situation is, or what's at stake. But somewhere along the line, you lost sight of that, and it's now an area where you feel uncertain, where you look for guidance."

"Sam isn't infallible morally. Ethically, he is, mostly. Castiel also failed morally, although he believed that ethically he was doing the right thing, for the greater good." She looked at him, hoping he was understanding her, hoping that it was sinking in.

"When you made the decision to go to Michael, to say yes to become his vessel to fight Lucifer, that was a decision driven by despair. You knew that it wasn't the right one, it just seemed like it was the only choice that you had control over of the options you could see in front of you."

He nodded, remembering what he'd felt, what he'd thought at that time. He'd given up, stopped fighting, had only been thinking of ways that he could minimise the damage to the people he cared about.

"You betrayed your friends by making that choice. Betrayed Bobby, and Cas, betrayed Sam."

He flinched at the words, knowing that they were true, knowing that it was the second time he'd betrayed someone, given up instead of fighting on. He'd never been able to forgive himself for Anna's betrayal either.

"Did they hold it against you, Dean?" Ellie pressed him, waiting for him to find his answers.

"No." He could hear Bobby's words, lacerating him with their fury, but Bobby had understood, had forgiven him for his weakness. Cas had been equally angry at him, and it hadn't been until he killed Zachariah and pulled Sam out that he'd understood that ultimately he couldn't make that choice.

"So I'm supposed to find a way to forgive Cas?" he asked softly. "What does it matter now? He's dead."

"Cas will be alive as long as you remember him. He doesn't need your forgiveness, you need it. You need to be able to forgive him for his mistakes so that you can let go."

"He broke Sam's wall. He put him where he is now." Dean glanced at her. "For a diversion, Ellie, just to stop Bobby and me."

She nodded. "You said he apologised, before he died. Wasn't that enough?"

He chewed on the corner of his lip. "I guess not."

She turned away from him, shifting back and looking out of the window. He glanced over at her.

"I never ask how you're doing, Ellie," he said quietly. "You always seem strong and you have all the answers, know exactly how to get to the root of the problem, and I never think to ask how you're feeling, if you're hurting, what you want …"

She didn't answer him, the silence growing between them, filled by the soft roar of the engine and the noise of the tyres under them.

"And when I do ask, you don't answer me," he said after moments had passed. She sighed.

"You know the answers to those questions, Dean."

He swallowed, feeling his chest constrict.

"I miss you, so much, Ellie." The words came huskily, through the thickness in his throat.

She didn't answer, and the silence stretched again. He knew he didn't deserve an answer, knew that he'd shattered what they'd had between them. He knew she was in pain, still, and yes, he knew what she wanted – and more than anything else in this world, he wanted to give it to her.

"I know that you don't … feel the same way about me any more, I know that you don't … love me now–,"

"I've never stopped loving you, Dean." She turned and looked at him, her eyes bright with tears, reflecting in the dim light from the dash. "I just can't take not knowing who you are now, what you might do, because you don't know those things yourself. I can't be with you if I can't trust you."

Time slowed to a crawl and then stopped as he absorbed the words. He stared ahead, the road empty and endless in the headlights. What could he do? How was he supposed to make this right? He didn't know what had driven him that night. He didn't know what had changed in himself that could even have it made it possible. He thought it had been a kind of temporary insanity, a reaction to the things that had happened, were happening around him, but he wasn't sure about that, couldn't be sure about it.

"You were wrong about my moral compass, Ellie. It's not perfect. I made the wrong choice and I lost you." He looked over at her, seeing her turn away. "All those years doing the right thing? They don't hold a candle to what I lost when I did the wrong thing."

She stared out the window. He felt the pain spreading through him again.

He remembered what she'd said to him, at her house. What if it had been her, how would he have felt if the positions were reversed. He'd blocked that out then. Couldn't think about it, couldn't even think near it. Now he knew. He would have felt exactly as she felt, as if he didn't know who she was, couldn't trust what she might do. It had nothing to do with having sex with someone else. That, as amazing as it seemed, wasn't the issue. It was about trust. About trusting someone with all that you are, knowing that they will always put you above everything else. That trust was gone, he'd felt it vanish when she'd hung up on him the next morning, but he hadn't acknowledged it until he'd seen the lack of it in her eyes in the house, until she'd told him. If the positions had been reversed, he would have thought that she didn't love him, that he didn't mean that much to her. His knuckles whitened on the wheel.

"I don't know how to get that trust back," he admitted, half to himself.

"I don't know how to either," she agreed sadly. "I know you didn't do it to hurt me, didn't even think about that – which is kind of the problem – and I know that you wish it hadn't happened, Dean. What I don't know is how to have faith in you."

He nodded. "That makes two of us."

A horn sounded distantly and he looked around, seeing nothing. Then it was there, deafening, filling the car with the sustained roar, and he was blinded by the lights that appeared in front of him, that were close and getting larger, wrenching the wheel to the right as his eyes narrowed to slits.

_What the hell?_ He straightened up, head turning to watch the semi passing by, on the other side of the road now. He looked in the mirror, seeing headlights behind him, taillights in front, the road not an empty two lane blacktop anymore but the interstate, eight lanes of traffic flowing and far from empty.

He looked at the passenger seat next to him. There was no one there.

* * *

_**Thompson Falls, Montana**_

Ellie sat up in her bed, struggling to hold onto the fragments of the dream, the airhorn's blare ringing in her ears, the brightness of the truck's headlights an afterimage in her eyes against the darkness of the room.

Her heart was pounding and she leaned back against the pillows, trying to remember the long conversation in the dream.

Castiel had betrayed Dean's trust in him. And Dean needed to forgive him for that, if only so that he could let it go himself. Did that apply to their situation as well? Was she punishing them both because she couldn't forgive his betrayal of her trust? _Do as I say, not as I do_, she thought sourly.

How was she going to be able to forgive him – the big difference between the two situations was that Cas had been doing what he thought was right, he'd been doing his best to prevent the Apocalypse from happening all over again. Had Dean been doing the best he could? Or had he given up?

And something about Sam ... Sam's hallucinations, hallucinations that weren't really hallucinations. Exorcising an angel ... _When the oil burns, no angel can touch or pass through the flames, or he dies_ ... Penemue had told her that, years ago. And Dean had told her, when Castiel had trapped Raphael. Sam could pass out of the flames without harm. Lucifer could not. She swung her legs off the bed and reached for her robe.


	8. Chapter 8 Holy Oil and Spirit Traps

**Chapter 8**

* * *

The sunlight splashed through the high windows and reflected from the white walls and pale golden timber. Ellie picked up the phone, her finger running down the list of contacts in the dark leather address book on the table, and stopping on one.

She dialled fast, tucking the phone against her ear and pouring herself a cup of tea. The phone rang on the other end for a long time, and she was about to hang up when she heard it picked up.

"Hello?" The male voice was rough and husky.

"Twist?" She pressed the phone more tightly to her ear. "Twist, it's Ellie."

"Ellie? Thought you were over in Europe for awhile."

"Yeah, well, had to come back to sort out a few things." She grimaced at the outright lie and closed her eyes. "Listen, do you still have a number or a location for the Winchesters?"

"Got a new cell number." There was a rustling and some low swearing on the other end of the line. "Here it is."

"Can you do me a favour?" Ellie stopped him before he could read it out. "I've got something that they need to get straight away. Is there any chance you can deliver it for me?"

"Sure. I can be there in a couple of hours."

"That would be great. I owe you." She sipped at her tea.

"Yeah, dinner and a movie."

She laughed and closed the phone, adding another teaspoon of honey to the cup absently. And that was that, she thought.

* * *

Dean looked down as his pocket vibrated. He pulled out the phone as the gas pump stopped.

"Yeah?"

"Dean? It's Twist."

"Yeah? How you doing?" He frowned as the name rang a bell but he couldn't place it.

"Same old. Listen, I've got something for you – where are you?"

"Something like what?" He still couldn't shake the wariness he felt, a hangover from being regarded as a pariah in the hunting community. It had been two years now since they'd run into a hunter with a yearning to kill them, but apparently, old habits died hard.

"Something for Sam," Twist hesitated, mindful of his promise to Ellie. "Something to help Sam."

Dean looked at the phone. "Sam's fine, Twist. What's this about?"

"Where are you? This is too hard to explain over these things." The exasperation came through clearly over the airwaves.

"About fifty miles west of Springfield, Illinois." Dean sighed.

"Great. I'm in Bloomsfield. Can I meet you in Macon in an hour and a half?"

"Yeah, sure." Dean leaned into the car window, yanking at the map on the passenger seat. "I'll see you then."

He shook his head slightly. Twist was one of the hunters he'd met briefly through Ellie, when they'd hunted a vampire nest up in Michigan. He barely remembered the dude.

He looked at the pump and pulled out his wallet, heading into the store to pay for the gas and grab something to eat.

* * *

"Where'd you get this?" Dean looked at the bottle, in its nest of packing straw and brown paper wrapping. It was ceramic, a mottled golden glaze over the surface. He didn't have to open it to know what it held.

"Picked it up a few months ago, and then forgot about it. When word came around that Sam was having some kind of trouble, I thought of it, thought it might be worth a shot. Never really believed that stuff about the 'pocalypse and you guys, but the fact that we're still driving around hunting down things and getting our pay-per-view seems like you boys did alright."

Dean blinked. It wasn't the usual reaction to what had happened, what he and Sam had done and sacrificed and bled to do. He nodded slowly.

"So you thought that a fallen angel could have hitch-hiked on Sam out of the Pit?" He tilted his head to one side, looking at the man consideringly. Twist was a good hunter, and a good man, but if he knew anything about fallen angels and the power of holy oil, then Dean would eat his boots.

"Ah, well, yeah. Sure." Twist looked away. "What else?"

"Ellie gave you this, didn't she?"

"No. Ellie's gone to Europe. Haven't seen her in months." Twist laughed self-consciously.

"Bullshit, Twist." Dean looked at him. "When did she call you?"

The other man sighed, shoulders slumping as he gave up the pretence. There went his dinner and movie, he thought sadly.

"Tuesday morning," he admitted. Dean thought about it. He'd driven to Colorado on Monday. The dream had been Monday night. If she'd rung Twist the next morning … what the hell did that mean? Had she known about the dream? Had some other hunter been keeping her up to date with what was going on with Sam?

"Thanks. It's a bit too late for it, unfortunately."

Very unfortunately, he realised now. Sam could've been freed from the angel without Cas having to take it on board. But it was done. And Castiel could no more cross the flames than Lucifer could.

It was an Ellie solution, he thought, through and through. Elegant and easy. He sighed. And if they'd been able to see her earlier, this whole mess might have been averted. He got back into the crappy sedan he was driving, watching Twist heading north, and pulled out on to the highway, glancing at the curved clay bottle beside him on the seat. Dammit all to hell.

The question kept nagging at him. _How had she known? How?_

The dream, he thought, hadn't been like a regular dream. For starters it'd been in one long sequence, not the usual hopping around from place to place or person to person like most dreams. And it had been logical, rational. He'd really believed that he was talking to her, like they used to, letting the conversation roll along as their thoughts came up. Her hair had been loose, he remembered suddenly. He'd noticed it in the dream, and it was still in his mind, a memory as solid as any other memory, not the usual broken fragments that he remembered of his dreams.

Had they somehow had the same dream? A dream that wasn't really a dream, but more like … what? OOB? He'd been asleep, he knew it, waking up on the wrong side of the interstate with a rig bearing down on him and still in the car, the crappy car he was driving … if it had been a real dream, they'd have been in the Impala, he was sure of that.

He shook his head impatiently. It had been something. Not a normal dream. Maybe a connection between them. Something. Something that had made him feel almost normal for the following two days, despite what had happened with Cas, despite the ever-increasing concern that Crowley's hands-off injunction had obviously lapsed. He'd felt … okay … again. For a short time, at least.

He had to get to Columbia, where Sam was waiting. It wasn't far. He didn't know what to do with any of the new information that was rattling around in his head.

* * *

Ellie finished twisting the fine gold wire into the double helix spiral and set it down carefully on the workbench. It was a trap, of sorts, for spirits and ghosts. She'd read about it when she was cataloguing the library and had been intrigued enough to want to try and make one. She could see how it worked, the pure element drawing the spirit into the cage at the top. Hopefully she wouldn't have the occasion to test it out, but it wouldn't hurt to add to the protection of the house, and the hall was huge enough that over the front door the trap would be quite inconspicuous.

It had been two days since Twist had picked up the holy oil and left. She thought it was a good sign that she hadn't heard from anyone. The dream had been … not quite a dream. She'd definitely been asleep when she'd found herself in it, but it had been too linear, too logical to be a product of her subconscious.

She still didn't know what she thought about his admissions in relation to Castiel. That lack of forgiveness was hurting him far more than the dead angel. She couldn't figure out how it related to the situation between them either. People make mistakes. The thought wasn't a new one. Yes, but do they make them once, and learn from them, or do they just not care and do it over and over again? That was the stopper. That was what she feared. Especially now.

Grief still came and went in long tidal phases. She could go to bed feeling as if she'd moved on, had come to grips with the loss, and wake up weeping. She was beginning to wonder if that pain would ever entirely heal over, or if she was going to be feeling it for the rest of her life. It was a hole. An emptiness in her that she didn't have any idea of how to fill, or even if it could be filled.

It had been twelve weeks nearly since Bobby had died. She thought back to her decision to stay away from Dean and Sam after Raphael had tracked her to them. That had been two years; before she'd been forced to see him again, before she'd found out that he was no longer tied to the Braedens. It had been the hardest two years of her life, watching him with them, knowing that there was no way she could disrupt his life. Then she'd had a second chance, and for awhile it seemed like things would really work out. She shook her head impatiently. It hadn't. And this was harder. Harder than walking away, knowing he had a shot at the life he wanted, a life with a family and no hunting, a life where he could be happy.

She sighed and put away the tools, pushing the unhelpful thoughts away. Going over and over it wasn't going to help anyone, least of all herself. She left the workroom and walked back through the maze of the witch's rooms to the living room, and down to the kitchen. She needed another cup of tea.

* * *

Dean's thoughts were churning. Sam had pulled out the answers, one after the other, and sure, it made sense, sort of. But it didn't answer the feeling in his gut. It didn't give him the sense of resolution that real answers would've.

That sword, skidding across the concrete, hilt first to him. That hadn't been the shojo. Even the most stupid monsters don't hand you back your weapon after they've knocked it loose from you. The beer, the papers, the card … Sam's ouija board. That was the hardest one. If Bobby were around, why hadn't he answered Sam?

And what was the story with the dream? It had been a real connection. It must have been or she wouldn't have tried to get the oil to him, to them. She couldn't have heard from anyone else, no one else knew about Sam, about how far it had gone or how badly – he'd told her about it in the dream, and she'd been the one to suggest that Lucifer had gotten a ride out of the cage with his soul. It wasn't something that had occurred to either Sam or him. And, most significantly, the dream had been on the way to Colorado – before he'd met Cas, when there had still been a chance for the oil trap to work on Sam.

He gripped the wheel, chewing on the inside of his lip as the same thoughts went around and around. They were thirty miles out of Marysville when he realised what he wanted to do, what he had to do.

"Sam, I've got a thing I need to do."

Sam straightened up in the seat, looking over at his brother. "Sure, what is it?"

"I have to do it alone." Dean flicked a glance at him, uncertain of how that would go down.

Sam shifted in the seat, looking out of the window. "Uh … oh."

Dean's lips compressed as he thought about telling his brother of Ellie's holy oil. He decided against it finally because although the solution might have worked when Lucifer was still in Sam, it couldn't work now. And what the hell was the point of making Sam feel worse about Cas taking the dark angel on board himself when there was nothing they could do about it?

"I thought we'd stop at the next town, get you some wheels. We can meet at Whitefish later, or wherever you are if you find a new case?"

"Sure, yeah. Okay." Sam frowned. "How long is this thing going to take?"

"I don't know. A few days, maybe."

"Dean … I thought we were done with the secret squirrel stuff." Sam looked at him.

He shrugged. "It's not that. I just need to find some answers about something."

"What?"

Dean drew a deep breath. "Ellie."

Sam's brow immediately wrinkled with concern. "Last time you went to see her, you didn't do so well."

"Yeah." He acknowledged it. "This time is different."

Sam looked out the window, watching the farmland speed by. "You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure." He stared ahead, not sure at all, but it didn't matter. He was going to try. They needed help – he needed help – and help was damned thin on the ground at the moment.

* * *

They cruised around the large town for an hour before spotting a suitable vehicle. Sam twisted the ignition wires together, and the engine rumbled into life. He looked up at his brother, leaning on the window frame.

"You could have dropped me off at the cabin, you know."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, but then you would have been stuck there. This is better."

Between Crowley's demons and the unknown number of leviathans still out there he'd feel a lot better if Sam had a ride of his own for the moment. He pulled the knife from his jacket, and handed it to his brother, hilt first.

"You keep that too."

Sam took it, looking down at it. "Dean … you might need this more than me."

Dean shook his head. "Ellie's got one. And I'm pretty sure that her place is a lot more protected from everything than anywhere you'll be."

There was no arguing that, Sam thought. "I'll see you then."

"Yeah. Be careful." Dean straightened up and stepped back from the car, watching as Sam pulled out of the nearly empty lot and onto the road. He walked back to the Pacer and got in, a mix of anticipation, fear and doubt agitating in his stomach. A glance at the map showed he had thirteen hundred miles to go, about twenty two hours if he went straight through.

He turned onto the I-80 ten minutes later and settled into the driving, Zep's _Travelling Riverside Blues_ playing loudly on the stereo, his thoughts switched off for the time being as he focussed on the road, the traffic and the interplay between his body and the machine he was controlling.

* * *

Ellie looked at the swirls and twists of sand on the table, the colours ranging from almost white to jet black, according to the mineral levels in the sand. The patterns were mesmerising. She glanced at the book beside her, checking the illustration photograph against what she'd done on. Seemed accurate.

It was pretty, she thought, but a lot of work for something that was really only a tripwire for indicating spirit presence. The book claimed that any spirit around would be drawn to the sand patterns, and would show itself when it touched them. She was dubious about that. She was also doubtful about how useful such a thing would be in the field, given how long it had taken to make, and the speed of vengeful spirits generally.

Still it was another thing, she supposed, to help. She pulled out the digital camera and took a dozen photos of the patterns, thinking that she would add the information to the database later on.

She put the camera down beside the sand traps and walked back to the study. Sitting on the desk was a pile of printouts, almost nine inches thick. Everything publicly available about the activities of a certain business entrepreneur and his nested companies. She'd been through it twice now. She'd verified Frank's findings, but there were no connections between the transactions and the activities he'd found, and no verification on the claim that they were building research centres – perhaps she'd misheard that in the dream, or misinterpreted it? It was hard to decide.

She looked at the pile in frustration. The dig bothered her the most. Roman was looking for something, something from the past – presumably the distant, distant past. Something that was obviously important enough to him that he'd funded the dig and probably had decided where the teams would be digging. Which was the one piece of information that Dean hadn't had, and that she couldn't find. She'd already called her contacts in the archaeological world and no one knew of this dig, none of them had been called to work on it. They were pretty high in the field, they should have known something if it had been an above-board operation.

And it _really_ didn't make sense when she thought of the Biggerson's outlets. Before Seattle, Sam had filled her in a little on the manufactured products that the restaurants were specialising in, just opinion, but it had seemed that the end game was about creating a food supply; a calm, peaceful food supply who would most likely just walk up to the abattoir without thinking twice. She rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. She needed to get out, have a look at one of these places for herself. This third-hand information scrabble was giving her a headache.

The doorbell rang, its chimes muted. Ellie's head snapped up and she took the SIG from the desk, checking the mag and taking the safety off. She walked around the desk and out through the living room, reminding herself for the hundredth time to get the damned security monitors installed pronto.

The door was designed to be an unbreakable barrier. No peephole breeched its solid timber and iron strength. She turned the lock and eased it open a couple of inches, jamming the toe of her boot under the edge, and stared into a pair of slightly bloodshot green eyes.


	9. Chapter 9 And Bobby Steps In

**Chapter 9**

* * *

Dean waited, his stomach fluttering unpleasantly. Ellie had opened the door a few more inches and she was staring at him, her face expressionless, but her eyes very dark.

"What do you want?" she said finally, her voice thick and husky with emotion. He swallowed, feeling his palms dampening with sweat but determined not to wipe them off while she was watching him.

"I want to talk to you," he hesitated, looking for the right words, the words that would magically get through to her.

"What part of 'I don't want to see you' did you not understand?"

He winced inwardly. "I wouldn't be here, Ellie if you hadn't sent the holy oil for Sam."

She raised an eyebrow. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah, you do." His eyes narrowed slightly, looking at her throat where the pulse had jumped a teeny bit. "You sent Twist down to us with holy oil – to get Lucifer out of Sam."

"Don't be ridiculous, Dean, I haven't spoken to Twist in over two months, and why would I think you needed holy oil for Sam?"

"That's a good question." He took a step closer to her. "Twist said you called him, asked him to deliver the oil to us."

"Maybe he's off his meds." She looked away, fuming internally. _No date for you, my old friend_.

"How did you know that Lucifer was inside Sam, really inside him?"

She looked back at him blandly. "I didn't know that. And I'm busy, Dean … so if that's all …" She pushed the door an inch toward him.

He put his hand against it, knowing the reaction he'd get but damned if he'd driven two days and thirteen hundred miles to get blown off so quickly. "No, that's not all. I had a dream, Ellie and in that dream I told you about Sam, and you told me that you thought Lucifer had gotten a ride out of the Cage with Sam's soul."

Ellie looked at his hand, resting against the door. "That's a great story, Dean. But it has nothing to with me."

"I had that dream on Monday, on my way to Colorado. I was driving, I woke up on the wrong side of the interstate with a rig just about to turn me into roadkill. On Tuesday morning, you called Twist and told him to pick up the oil and get it to me and Sam. Just explain that."

"I don't know what you're talking about. And I don't have to explain anything to you." She looked up at him, and he saw the muscle in her jaw twitch.

"Ellie, did you have the same dream? On Monday night?" He looked at her, his face suddenly vulnerable with the depth of his need to know.

She closed her eyes, letting out her breath. If she told him the truth, what then? The intimacy of the connection of that dream already scared her. If he asked her about it, if he'd recognised the strangeness of that connection, that it had been their conscious selves talking …

"Did the oil work?" she asked, opening her eyes. "Is Sam okay?"

Dean looked at her, realising how much had happened since that dream, how much she didn't know. "Yeah, Sam's okay. But it wasn't the oil."

He looked at the door and back to her face. "Can I come in? There's a lot more that's happened since … that dream."

She straightened, and shook her head. "No, you can't. Tell me here, or leave."

"Castiel is alive." Dean watched her face pale as she gripped the door tightly.

"What?"

He shook his head. "Please, Ellie. Can we sit down somewhere?"

She let her grip on the door fall, turning away from him and walking to the living room. Cas was alive? How was that possible? How long? Why the _hell_ hadn't Pen told her?

Dean closed the door behind him and followed her into the huge room, sitting down in an armchair that sat at a right angle from the long sofa Ellie was curled onto. He looked at her, trying to figure out the fastest and easiest way to get it all out in a coherent telling.

"I was on my way to Colorado because there was supposed to be a real faith-healer up there." He thought briefly of the card falling from the address book, and pushed the thought away. He could go into that later, if she'd let him.

"It turned out to be Cas. He'd walked out of a river somewhere, been found by a woman, no memories of who he was, or what he was for that matter. But he could heal, anyone, apparently and that's how I found him. "

She was looking at him directly now, her eyes fixed on his.

"I drove him back to Sam, to the hospital. On the way, Meg showed up, offering a deal to help us. The hospital was surrounded by demons." He shook his head. "Seems like Crowley's rescinded our protection order, and he's looking for Cas as well. Cas took care of the demons and while he was doing it, his memories came back – all of them."

He saw pain cross her face, in sympathy for the angel who'd sinned in pride. She knew, as well as he did, that Cas would find it near impossible to deal with all he'd done, all the mistakes he'd made … all the lives he'd taken.

"He told me he couldn't heal Sam, couldn't put the pieces back together, that what had been there was … crumbled … somehow. But he took something out of him, the hallucination of Lucifer. It went into Cas and he's in the psych ward now, with Meg guarding him."

Ellie closed her eyes, leaning against the back of sofa. "Oh, Cas."

"Sam was fine, is fine." He took a deep breath, still feeling the echoes of relief from that. "He feels guilty as hell about Cas, but otherwise, he's okay again."

Ellie opened her eyes and looked at him. "But now there's no way to get Lucifer out of Castiel."

"Yeah." He looked down at the floor. "No way we can think of."

"If that's even what's happened." Ellie drew her legs up further, wrapping her arms around her shins, her chin just above her knees. "What did it look like, when Cas took it into himself?"

"Uh … there was a red light." He thought back, trying to remember every detail. "It flashed in Sam's eyes, then it seemed to be filling the veins and arteries of his face, his head, and then it moved down his neck and his arm and into Cas' hand where he was holding Sam." _It had looked damned freaky, was how it had looked_, he thought with an internal shiver. "It lit up his arm, and his neck and the blood vessels in his head, and then his eyes had flashed red, and it disappeared."

Ellie frowned, as she visualised what he was describing. "So it looked like an actual, separate entity."

"Yeah, I guess so." He looked at her face, feeling a painful mixture of memory and hope and doubt and fear and pain. How many times had he sat with her, doing exactly this, watching her come up with an answer or a solution to something that had seemed impossible to him. He swallowed and looked away for a moment, pushing everything down, away. "Do you know what it is?"

She shook her head. "No, not really. But I'll try to find out. I think that it's probably Lucifer, incorporeal but very much there, but it may be something else."

"Come on, what else could it be?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "It was out of Sam's control when it was in him. And just from Cas' reactions, it was completely out of his control when it took him over."

She looked at him, mouth twisting ruefully. "I don't know yet, I need to check some things. But it could be something along the lines of a virus – something that's infected them, somehow. I'll look, alright?"

A virus, he thought unhappily. Something that could pass from a human to an angel. Well, that was nearly as fun as Lucifer escaping the Cage.

She followed his thoughts. "If it was Lucifer, then he's without a lot of his power, because why not jump to another vessel and restart the Apocalypse, if he were capable of it? Or it's not really Lucifer, but more like some kind of echo." She shook her head. "There are a few possibilities and this is just speculating without any information whatsoever."

She unfolded herself from the sofa, getting to her feet. "Is Cas safe, in the ward, with Meg?"

"I don't know." He stood as well, reluctantly, because he had the feeling she was just about done talking to him, and he had a lot more to ask.

"Have you seen Crowley? Spoken to him?"

He shook his head. "No. Demons on our asses again was enough of a greeting card."

"Meg said he was looking for Cas?" She looked around the room absently, more in an attempt to not have to look at him, not have to feel the pain at the sight of him, than anything else.

"Yeah. I'm guessing for revenge. Or to have him under his control."

Ellie's gaze drifted over the table where she'd made the sand traps, drifted past it and stopped, abruptly shifting back to the table top. She turned away from Dean and walked swiftly to the table, looking down at the patterns, which were now broken and blurred.

"What?" He followed her, looking at the sand. "What's wrong?"

"There's a spirit here," she said in a low voice. "That's what these are supposed to be for, to show a spirit presence." The thought that a successful test had happened in her own home brought a shiver along her spine, but she wasn't sure if it was fear or excitement.

"What?" He looked around. "Where?"

She gave him an impatient look. "Where's your EMF?"

He shook his head. "I lent it to a friend and it hasn't recovered yet."

"Did you know that you had a spirit with you, Dean?"

His hand slid to the inside pocket of the jacket he wore, feeling the outline of the flask he carried there, Bobby's flask.

"It might be Bobby," he said uncertainly. Ellie looked at him. He shrugged helplessly.

"We weren't sure." He looked back at the table. "There were all these things, little things, that happened and I thought it was Bobby, but Sam tried to use the talking board and nothing happened."

Ellie's brows arched upward. "He tried to use it to talk to Bobby while Lucifer was riding shotgun?"

Dean nodded.

"Do you think Bobby might have felt a tad constrained by the fact that the devil was riding on Sam's shoulder at the time?"

A soft breeze sighed through the room, stirring the grains of the sand on the table and making the papers stacked on the chair alongside riffle slightly. Dean looked at her.

"Yeah, well, I guess."

She bit back the retort that leapt to her lips and took a breath. "Have you still got any contacts with mediums?"

He shook his head. "Not since Pamela died."

She nodded, and walked across the room to the doorway that led to her study. Dean followed her, looking back over his shoulder at the blurred patterns of sand on the table. He'd known it was Bobby, he'd known it. Why hadn't he tried to contact him by himself?

In the study, Ellie was sitting behind her desk, opening a large leather-bound book. She flipped through the pages, a frown creasing her forehead. She looked up at him as she picked up the phone, waving vaguely at the chair in front of the desk.

"Missouri? It's Ellie."

Dean's attention sharpened instantly. He'd been in Kansas, just a couple of hours from Lawrence, why the hell hadn't he remembered the psychic while he'd been down there?

"No, I need some help contacting a spirit. Mmm-hmmm." She pulled a pen from the jar on the desk and a pad toward her. "Actually, he's attached to an object. Yeah."

Dean leaned forward on the chair. Ellie glanced at him and then away, listening to the woman on the other end of the line.

"No, I'll send them down. It's okay, you know him. Dean Winchester." She tapped the pen on the pad. "Okay, yes, I will. Bye."

"Well?"

"She'll help. You get down to Lawrence and see her, she'll contact Bobby and help you talk to him." She put the pen down and ripped off the sheet of paper from the pad, handing it to him. "She moved a couple of years ago. You'll find her there."

"Thanks." He looked down at the paper, folding it and sliding it into his jacket pocket.

"Ellie …" he said quietly, watching her as she got up, started to walk around the desk, "about the dream."

She stopped, shaking her head. "Dean, I can't talk to you about that. Just … write it off as a coincidence."

"You said you still loved me. That you never stopped." He stood slowly, watching her. He had to know. That conversation had been graven into him since the dream, he had to know if that had been real. "Was that true?"

His words fell into her, like stones dropped into a well. Only in her case, the well was filled with pain. She looked down, cursing silently at the hormones that made her emotions rise and fall like geysers, her eyes filling with sudden tears that she couldn't control.

"It doesn't matter," she said finally, fighting past the tightness in her throat. "It doesn't change anything."

"It does for me. It changes everything." He took a small step toward her, hesitating as he saw her knuckles whiten on the edge of the desk. "I -,"

"Don't you say it," she cut him off sharply, head rising to look at him, the tears spilling down her cheeks. "Don't you dare say that to me."

He was frozen, held by the vehemence in her voice as much by the sight of her face, twisted in pain, her cheeks shining with the tracks of the tears that were still spilling out.

"Just go. Okay?" She lifted her hand, wiping it hard over her eyes, over her face. "Just go down to Kansas and talk to Missouri and leave me alone."

She walked out past him, into the living room. He followed slowly, his heart racing in fear; fear for her, for the depths of pain that he could see in her, fear for himself, that he'd gone too far, that he wouldn't be able to get past her defences the next time.

She was standing near the table and as he came up close to her, the sand on the table started shifting, the patterns breaking into pieces, being lifted into the air and dumped onto the floor. They stood still, transfixed, as in the centre of the largest pattern, the sand was dragged aside, as if by a finger, lines forming letters, the letters forming a single, small word.

**NO**

Ellie stared at the table. _Don't you mix into this, Bobby_, she thought angrily. _This is none of your business_.

Dean watched the last few grains of sand dropping from the table's edge onto the floor. _No … what? No, he shouldn't go to see Missouri? No, he shouldn't leave here? No … what, Bobby?_

He stepped forward, turning to look at Ellie. She stood with her eyes closed, lips compressed tightly, a small line between her brows.

"What does it mean?" he asked her, looking back at the table.

"It means you should get going, it's a long way to Kansas," she said softly, pushing her anger at busybody ghosts back down, and opening her eyes to look at him flatly.

He turned away, and walked out into the great hall. At the front door, he stopped again, his hand on the door knob as he looked back toward the living room. He could see her standing there, completely still, as if she were bracing herself against some emotion. She probably was, he thought tiredly. Anger at him.

He turned the knob and pulled, but the door refused to open. He pulled harder, and it was like trying to pull a car. It wasn't budging. He glanced back over his shoulder at Ellie, wondering how he was going to explain to her that he couldn't leave.

He yanked on the knob again, contemplating putting his foot up against the frame, and it opened. He walked through, pulling it shut behind him quickly, before Bobby changed his mind again. The car was parked at the bottom of the shallow steps, and he opened the door and got in, slamming the door shut. _What the hell just happened in there?_

He turned the key. Nothing happened. Not a cough, not a growl, not even a click, just nothing. He turned it again, and got the same result. _Bobby, she will kill us both if you keep pulling this shit_, he thought.

He tried the key again. Silence. He could feel a headache building up behind his eyes, a combination of tension and emotion. He was not going back to that door. He would sit here in the dead car until he rotted before he went back to the door.

The door opened and Ellie walked out, looking down at him, her arms folded across her chest.

"Heh … car won't start," Dean called to her. She looked around.

"I'm not going, Bobby, so you can just knock it the hell off," she said softly. "What do you care, anyway?"

Silence answered her.

She scowled in frustration. "Dean, take my truck, it's got some protection against malevolent spirits."

Dean got out of the Pacer and walked around behind it to the white truck parked back off the turn around. _This had better work_, he thought nervously, climbing into it. He turned the key and there was dead silence. He glanced up at Ellie. She was looking around again. Even from this distance he could see the stubborn set of her jaw, the scowl that narrowed her eyes as she stared balefully around the clearing.

"You sonofabitch."

He heard that. She turned abruptly and walked back inside the house, leaving the front door open. He sat in the truck, feeling sweat trickle down the back of his neck and along the hollow of his spine, wishing that he was somewhere else, anywhere else in fact. The minutes stretched on and he wondered if he should be doing something, although he was having a hard time coming up with anything that he could do.

Ellie came out of the house, holding a big leather backpack in one hand. She'd changed into jeans and boots, a short denim jacket covering the soft turtleneck beneath. She yanked the front door closed, the slam echoing along the rock face above, and turned the key in the iron lock.

As she stalked down the shallow steps and crossed the gravel toward them, Dean turned the key again. The engine started immediately, the deep rumble of a diesel, and he wiped the sweat from his forehead, getting out to retrieve his gear from the Pacer. She didn't look at him as she passed him, climbing into the passenger side of the truck. But he could feel the anger emanating from her, like the heat shimmer off a hot road.

He tossed his duffle into the back, and got into the driver's side, risking a sideways look at her. She sat rigidly in the passenger seat, her eyes fixed ahead, the muscle at the point of her jaw jumping.

"Uh …" he started to say, and she leaned over and hit the Play button of the CD player in the dash, the opening guitar of _Evil Walks_ rolling ominously into the cab, the volume designed to absolutely preclude any form of communication. He nodded and put the truck into gear, the gravel spitting out behind the tyres as they rolled through the turnaround and down the drive.


	10. Chapter 10 Just Plain Awkward

**Chapter 10**

* * *

By the time they pulled into Billings, they had ploughed through AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, Bad Company, a short foray through Hendrix, Creedence, the Stones and Def Leppard. Ellie had changed discs as soon as they finished, so there was barely any silence between the albums. Not a single word had been spoken between them for the entire seven and a half hours.

Dean had foregone his driver picks rule, as album after album ending up suiting both the driving conditions and his current state of mind, a state that veered wildly between gratitude to the ghost for forcing Ellie to come with him, for giving him time with her, and fear that being forced into the situation would make things worse than they'd been, turn her feelings into anger. When she hadn't slammed the door in his face, he'd let himself entertain a very small hope that maybe there was a way back. That maybe with time and patience, he could regain her trust.

He eased the volume down as they came into the city limits, and started to look around for a place they could stop, fill up with fuel and food, and stretch their legs.

Ellie looked out the passenger window resolutely. The hormones currently flooding her body made it impossible to think of anything that didn't cause an overreaction in one way or another. She'd had to hunch fully against the door when some of the songs had played, bringing tears to her eyes, sometimes through the lyrics, or the music, sometimes through a memory, but often without any discernible reason at all. She was aware that her eyelids were swollen now, and she did not want to have a discussion of why that might be with the man beside her.

He found a place that seemed to fit all their requirements on the outskirts, pulling in and parking near the entrance. Ellie looked around and got out, swinging the bag onto her shoulder, and walking into the restaurant without looking back. Dean watched her go, and sighed, pulling the flask from his pocket.

"If you thought this was somehow going to be a bonding trip, you were so mistaken," he told Bobby, unscrewing the lid and swallowing a mouthful. "She was pissed at me, but you she'd like to salt and burn."

He followed her into the restaurant, and stood behind her in the line, looking at the garishly presented menu overhead. Ellie ordered and paid, turning with the two sacks of food as Dean stepped up the cash register. He looked at them, one brow lifting.

"What?" She looked down at the bags. "I'm hungry."

She was actually. She found a table and sat down, pulling out the first of two steak sandwiches, and bit into it. She'd been ravenous since the nausea had stopped, and what she was particularly hungry for was steak, cheese and bread. Dean came up to the table, deciding to ignore the look from over the roll that she was devouring, and pretend he didn't know what it meant. He sat down and pulled out his burger, unwrapping it and taking a bite.

He finished the burger as she was chewing the last of the second sandwich, and they got up together, pitching the wrappings in the trash can. Ellie headed for the restrooms while Dean went back to the truck, moving it to the pumps and filling up.

When she got back into the truck, she sorted through another few hours worth of music, not wanting a single minute of silence in which anyone might be tempted to offer a word or three. There were plenty of albums to choose from, and the music ranged from the rock they'd been listening to, through blues and bluegrass, jazz and swing and rock'n'roll. She put the first one on as Dean got back in, Pink Floyd this time, and turned back to her window.

* * *

They crossed over into Wyoming a little over an hour later on the I-90, heading south. Dean heard the last bars fade away on the Floyd album and glanced over at Ellie. She was leaning against the passenger door, eyes closed, face relaxed in sleep. He'd noticed at the house that she was looking well again – better than well, almost glowing with health. He glanced at his watch and decided to keep going until ten. He'd find a motel to stop for the night around then.

At Buffalo, he turned onto the I-25, and began to feel the effects of driving over two thousand miles in three days. A motel off the interstate showed a red vacancy sign just out of Casper, and he decided he'd had enough, pulling off and turning into the patched and rough drive way. He pulled up in front of the office, and looked over at the woman sleeping beside him. Despite a number of bumps on the way in, she was still out, lips slightly parted, breathing deep and regular. He got out and went into the office.

"Evening." The manager looked at him, glancing out at the white truck.

"Uh … I need two rooms for the night, thanks." Dean pulled out his wallet and leaned on the smooth counter.

"Only the one left. Single." The manager tapped a couple of keys on the keyboard of the computer.

Dean rubbed his fingers against his temple. _Of course_. He nodded, and handed the guy a handful of notes. The manager tapped a few more keys and turned and plucked the last remaining key from the board, handing it to him.

"Have a good night."

Dean bit back the response he wanted to make, and raised his hand instead, turning and walking back to the truck. He drove into the last slot in front of the room, and turned off the engine, climbing out and grabbing his duffle from the back, and pulling out Ellie's backpack from the front. He unlocked the room and flipped on the lightswitch, looking around at the double bed on one side of the room, the long couch that took up another and the small kitchenette tucked into the corner. The décor had originally been done sometime in the sixties, he guessed, and nothing had been replaced or repaired since. It reminded him strongly of another hotel room, in New York City, in the middle of a humid summer.

He shook off the memories impatiently and walked back out to the truck. Getting in on the driver's side, he reached out to gently shake Ellie's shoulder.

"Ellie, we're here. Come on, wake up, you can sleep in comfort inside."

He shook a little harder, but she didn't stir, not even the slightest movement of her eyes beneath the lids to indicate she was close to waking. He sighed and got back out, walking around to the passenger door. Easing it open, he put his arm around her shoulders as she tipped back toward him, sliding his other arm under her knees and lifted her out of the cab. He looked down at her for a long moment, in the light over the walkway that ran in front of the rooms. Her lashes cast long shadows across her cheekbones, the smattering of freckles over her nose standing out against the creaminess of her skin. She felt light in his arms, despite being a dead weight in sleep. Her head was tucked in against his shoulder, one arm curled up over her stomach, the other hanging loosely down as he turned slowly and carried her up to the door.

"What do you think you're doing?" Ellie woke as he was about to step across the threshold into the room, struggling against his arms. "Put me down."

Dean let go of her legs and stepped back as she landed, wobbling for a second before she reached out for the doorframe and steadied herself.

He held up his hands, palms up, appeasingly. "I couldn't wake you, I was just going to put you on the bed."

She looked from the truck to the room and nodded slowly. "Okay. Sorry. Woke up too suddenly."

Walking into the room, Ellie looked around, and crossed her arms. "One room? Really?"

"This one was the only one they had left." He gestured through the door at the Vacancy sign outside which had just switched to No Vacancy. "You can take the bed, I'll sleep on the couch."

She caught her lower lip between her teeth and shook her head. "I'll sleep in the truck."

"Come on, Ellie." Dean closed the door and leaned up against. He was tired. He just wanted to lie down somewhere and sleep for awhile. He did not want to have a conversation like this right now. "You sat next to me for the last ten hours. You can risk sleeping in the same room for another six."

She gave him a sour look. "That's not what I'm worried about."

His attention sharpened at that comment, but the effort to hold onto it was too much. He shrugged, and pulled off his jacket, tossing it onto the end of the couch. He sat down and pulled off his boots, and padded over the thin carpet in socks to look in the built-in on the other side of the bed. There were two spare pillows and a couple of blankets. They were in the lower end of the mountains, but the night air was cold and it would be colder by morning. He grabbed them and spread them out over the couch.

Ellie watched him from under her lashes, picking up her bag and putting it on the end of the bed. She wasn't worried about him doing anything. She was worried about what he'd learn about her, if they slept in the same room. The nightmares hadn't stopped, and she cringed at the thought of waking up, weeping, in front of him.

He pulled out the flask and unscrewed the lid, swallowing a long mouthful.

"Nightcap?"

She turned and looked at the flask in his hand. "No." The word came out a little too strongly, and she added, "Thanks."

He looked at her for a moment, then shrugged, tipping another mouthful down, then putting the lid back on and tucking the flask into his jacket. He let himself fall sideways, head hitting the pillows and pulled the blankets over himself, his eyes closing.

Ellie fiddled with her bag for a moment longer, then turned and walked to the bathroom, closing the door and turning on the light. She looked at herself in the grimy mirror, and turned on the tap, splashing her face with cold water. She'd slept almost the whole way from Billings. The fatigue she felt didn't give her a choice. She could be feeling completely normal and her eyelids would start to close, and once that happened she'd be out in minutes. She'd had a couple of near misses already through not listening to her body.

She brushed her teeth and pulled off her clothes, tossing the jeans, shirt and jacket over the rail. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she frowned at the sight of the simple cotton and lace bra. It had been exactly the right size six weeks ago when she'd bought it. Now she was … overflowing … it. Surely it was too early for this? She shook her head and pulled the oversized t-shirt she'd taken to wearing to bed lately over her head. The bra would have to stay on for the night, comfort or no comfort.

Dean was on his side, one arm curled up under his head when she came out and switched off the lights. She crawled under the covers of the bed, and closed her eyes, listening to the distant sounds from the interstate. She breathed deeply, in and out, and waited for sleep to come. But it wouldn't.

She could hear the click and pop of the refrigerator in the kitchenette as it adjusted its temperature. She found herself unconsciously focussing on the compression braking of the big trucks as they slowed for the wide bend near the town. She could hear Dean's breathing across the room, the steady rhythm of it telling her he was already asleep. She rolled over, trying to get more comfortable on the other side, but the noises kept intruding, and images played against the blackness of her lids.

At the house, it was different. She had been locked into the emotions of the situation, and didn't often think of the loss in physical terms. Now, she was acutely aware that he was lying less than ten feet away. _Just the hormones_, she thought, rolling back to the other side of the bed, _just the increased blood flow, perfectly normal, nothing to write home about_. But it didn't stop the ache. And it didn't stop the images.

* * *

When Dean woke the next morning, he found Ellie already up, dressed and reading a paper, a cup of strong-smelling tea on the table beside her.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Any coffee?"

She gestured at the kitchenette without looking at him. He looked around, and saw the jug on the counter, a mug next to it. No doubt there were sachets of the appalling instant coffee that motels of this type bought in bulk in a shallow dish next to them. He shook his head.

"I need real coffee. And breakfast."

"No argument. As soon as you're ready we could go." Ellie sipped her tea. He sighed and got up.

* * *

The diner was old-fashioned and served an old-fashioned breakfast. They ordered the same large serving of sausage, bacon, eggs and hash browns, and he watched her eat, wondering if this was a new thing, or something he'd just never noticed before. Ellie rummaged through her bag, pulling out a small white bottle and shaking a tablet into her hand. She washed it down with the herbal tea, and set the bottle on the table when the waitress came to take away their plates. Dean looked at it, reading the label without the slightest recognition of the name.

He waited until the waitress had left then leaned over the table, his gaze moving from the cup of herbal tea to the bottle, then to her face.

"Ellie, are you okay? Is there anything wrong?"

She looked up at him, a small line forming between her brows. "I'm fine."

He opened his mouth to say something, his gaze returning to the bottle on the table, hesitating since he didn't really want to push. She followed the direction of his look and grabbed the bottle, putting it back in her bag and swallowing the last of the tea.

"You ready?" She stood up and walked to the cash register, paying for the meal and leaving before the change was made. Dean stood up slowly and followed her.

* * *

They were out of Wyoming and through Colorado by lunchtime, leaving the mountains behind them as they travelled east as the sun rose over them and started to fall behind. Dean stayed on the interstates and manoeuvred the pickup in and out of big rigs that seemed to multiply along the arteries of the country.

He found she would talk if the conversation was completely general. Anything personal at all resulted in the volume going up on the stereo and Ellie turning her back to him as she looked out her window. After the second attempt, he'd learned.

"I really, _really_ wanted to put them on." He glanced at her, the corner of his mouth lifting as he saw her biting her lips to keep from laughing.

"You're making this up." She looked at him, shaking her head.

"No, no way. I kept thinking that if I was wearing them, and maybe a pair of those really tight, black tights … I could probably lift a ballerina over my head."

She snorted, and looked away. He grinned, it was the truth. A weird case, but all true.

"The latest one was better though," he said, as she turned back to him, the smile gone but her eyes still alight with laughter.

"You can top the ballet shoes?"

"Sure. We ran into a case with a shojo – only way we could see it was to get drunk."

"That doesn't sound too hard." Her mouth twisted slightly as she eased herself around a bit more to face him.

"Huh … you didn't see my partners." Dean shook his head. "Sam's not bad, but Garth could get blind on the smell of a bar rag."

"Garth? Isn't he the guy you had to work with in Delaware?" She tried to recall the details of the case. "Sam's wedding spell?"

Dean snorted. "Yeah, that's the case. He's not so bad, kind of grows on you."

"How'd you kill the shojo if you had to be drunk to see it?"

"Sam got drunk, I had a pawnshop katana, and apart from Sam's 'other right' instructions, we managed it." He stopped, remembering the sword sliding back to him again. "The shojo knocked the sword off me in the first attack. I couldn't see it. It went flying and then it came back to me."

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "Came back to you?"

"It was about six or seven feet away, and it slid back across the floor by itself, straight to my hand."

She nodded slowly. "Bobby."

He glanced at her, and let out a breath. Why hadn't Sam reacted like that? Why hadn't he? "Yeah."

"But you didn't believe it." She guessed, looking at his profile as he stared down the road in front of them.

"I was sure it was him." He shrugged slightly. "At first. Then I talked to Sam, and it just didn't seem likely that he wouldn't have found a way to talk to us, to let us know."

Ellie's brows rose. "Why? He had a lot of practice in being a ghost that I didn't hear about?"

He flicked a glance at her. "No, I know, but he's like an expert."

"You could spend your whole life reading about baseball and not get a single ball over the plate if you tried to pitch."

He looked sideways at her, mouth twisting. "You do that too easily, you know."

"Yeah, I know." She lifted her hand, rubbing the back of her neck where it was starting to stiffen. Dean flicked a look at the movement, his gaze following the line of her arm, over the curve of her breast as it lifted under the close-fitting t-shirt. He frowned. He had pretty good memories of her body – who was he kidding? He had damned good memories of her body, and he didn't remember her breasts being quite that …full. He looked back at the road.

She could feel the sleep she'd missed out on last night heading for her now, as a yawn came out of nowhere.

"What else happened, to make you think Bobby hadn't passed over?"

"Uh … just after we got back from Spokane, I had a beer, a full bottle and it was gone. Then when we were in -," he stopped himself, searching for another word, any other word, "in … uh … Portland, a piece of paper that was relevant to the case we were working on moved from the bottom to the top of a pile of stuff. And when I was looking for help for Sam, Bobby's address book fell onto the floor and a card fell out, with the number of the guy that knew about Cas."

She nodded, yawning again. "Okay, well even all together those were pretty vague."

He heard the yawn in her voice, and looked down at the clock on the dash. It was two o'clock.

"Did you sleep okay last night?" he asked quietly.

She nodded. "Yeah, took awhile to get to sleep, that's all." She settled herself into the corner between the door and the back of the seat. "There's nothing wrong with me, Dean."

He looked over at her, seeing her eyes close. "Sure, yeah."

This was a woman who'd hiked sixty miles out of the Alaskan wilderness with a broken leg. Who'd climbed through the mountains of Turkey to find a handful of soil from the Garden of Eden. Who'd jumped off the roof of a building and through a window and fought demons to save his ass. She'd driven over twenty hours straight to get to him when he'd needed her. Now, she was falling asleep every twelve hours. But nothing was wrong. No, nothing at all. He bit the corner of his lip and focussed his attention on the road. If she didn't want to tell him, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

* * *

They reached Lawrence at eight o'clock, and Dean drove slowly through the town, wondering if he should go straight to Missouri's place, or find a motel and go see her in the morning. Ellie was sleeping again, her second three hour stint today. It probably explained why she'd had trouble getting to sleep the previous night.

"Ellie." He reached over, his fingers curling gently around her arm and shook her slightly. This time her eyes opened immediately and she sat up, looking around.

"Do you want to see Missouri straight away or in the morning?" He gestured vaguely to the dark streets.

"Now." If they saw her now, they'd be able to get back on the road first thing in the morning and finish this torturous roadtrip.

He nodded and increased the speed a little, heading for the address she'd written down for him.


	11. Chapter 11 Missouri's Help

**Chapter 11**

* * *

Ellie stood on the porch of the small frame house and pressed the doorbell. She could hear the buzzer inside, and then the sound of footsteps coming up the hallway toward her. Behind her, on the step below, Dean waited with his fingers against the flask in his jacket.

"Ellie! I thought you were sending Dean on his own." Missouri opened the door wide, stepping through and taking Ellie's hands.

"Oh, my!" Her eyes widened, as she saw.

"Oh, honey -" Her smile disappeared.

"That was the plan. Other things got in the way." Ellie cut her off quickly. _Don't say a word_, she thought to the other woman frantically. She saw Missouri's tiny nod as she released her hands and turned to Dean.

"Not one for keeping in touch, are you?"

His hesitant smile vanished and he looked at Ellie. "Uh … things got kind of busy."

"Yeah, I know all about it." She stepped aside for him to go through the door ahead of her, her hand flashing up and smacking him in the back of head as he passed her.

"What was that for?" He turned around, backing into the hallway.

"You know." She shook her head, following him in and closing the door behind them.

He started to protest that he didn't, then realised what she was talking about, and closed his mouth, walking fast to catch up with Ellie as she went into the kitchen.

"So you need to get in touch with a spirit?" She settled herself at the table, sitting between them. "You got something? Something that the spirit is connected to?"

Dean pulled out the flask and handed it to her. She took it carefully by her fingertips, and closed her eyes. A moment later they flew open again.

"Bobby Singer? He died?" Missouri looked from Dean to Ellie, her face shocked.

"I'm sorry, Missouri. I should have said – I didn't know you knew Bobby." Ellie's fingers curled around the older woman's hand. "It was recent."

Missouri nodded sadly. "He's here. And yeah, he wants to talk to you. He can't manifest by himself yet. He needs more energy than he can raise on his own." She reached out to them, taking Ellie's hand to her left and Dean's to her right. Ellie extended her hand slowly across the table to Dean. He felt the familiar jolt as he touched it, saw Missouri's eyes widen again as she felt it too, and closed his fingers around Ellie's smaller hand.

"I want you to concentrate on my voice, concentrate your energy into your hands, feel it push through you into your hands, and into mine."

Dean looked at Ellie, watching her eyes close, the small line appear between her brows. He looked down at her hand, enclosed in his own, and felt it warming against his palm. He closed his eyes and imagined his own heat flowing down his arms and into his hands, flowing through his fingers to Ellie and Missouri.

After a few minutes he could feel something had changed in the narrow kitchen. He opened his eyes, looking from Ellie's face to Missouri's, and then caught a glimpse of something in the corner of his eye.

To one side of him, at the end of the table, the air seemed to be getting darker, thickening slightly. He could see patterns, still translucent enough to be able to see the doorway and the old kitchen dresser through them, but becoming more solid with each passing moment. He kept his gaze on Ellie, watching the apparition form in his peripheral vision.

"Idjit."

Dean saw Missouri's mouth curve into a smile. He turned his head slowly, looking at the man he'd thought was gone, thought had moved on. Bobby looked the same, down to the cap that shadowed half his face.

Ellie's eyes had opened and Dean saw that they were filled with tears. He could feel his own, pressing against the back of his eyeballs. It was true. It was real. He let out his held breath in a long shuddering exhale.

"Didn't occur to you to try the damned ouija board on your own, Dean?" Bobby flickered and was standing by the table, between him and Ellie.

"I was afraid that nothing would happen." Dean looked up at him. "I believed Sam, thought I just wanted it to be true too much."

Bobby shook his head. "You have any idea of how much effort it takes to just stay on this plane?"

"Yeah, no. Not really." Dean ducked his head, looking at the flowery tablecloth.

"Takes a lot." Bobby looked at Missouri. "Long time no see."

Missouri nodded. "I'm sorry to hear about you, Bobby."

He shrugged. "Everyone has to go sometime."

Dean's breath caught in his throat at the casual comment. He kept his eyes on the table, but his fingers tightened on Ellie's hand, and after a moment, she returned the pressure gently.

Bobby turned to look at Ellie. "Hi, Ellie."

She smiled. "Hey, Bobby."

His gaze flicked to Dean and back to her. "You still mad at me?"

"Yes." She lifted her chin slightly, eyes narrowing. "That was a low trick, Bobby Singer."

He shrugged. "You're gonna tell him, right? You have to tell him. He's needs to know."

Dean looked up at Bobby, at the insistence in his voice, then to Ellie, as she dropped her gaze to the table. He felt like he'd missed something, but he hadn't, he'd heard everything they'd said. Bobby shook his head after a moment, and turned back to him.

"You track down that number?"

Dean looked up at him. "Frank figured there was a number missing. It gave us coordinates to a field, where Roman is building something. We're still not sure what."

Bobby frowned. "I don't remember the number. Got lost in the transition, I think." He saw Dean's expression. "Oh, it'll come back, everything's coming back slowly, but I don't know when."

"Why didn't you talk to Sam?" Dean asked.

"'Cos he had the devil sitting right next to him." Bobby grimaced. "Didn't want anyone to know until Lucifer was gone."

"Bobby, we lost Frank."

"Yeah, I know. He's not dead. But I can't see through whatever's holding him." He shook his head. "Something powerful."

"Crowley's let the demons loose again."

Bobby started to grin. "Guess that means he's out of options. You still got the knife?"

Dean nodded. "Sam's got it at the moment."

"How's Sam doing?"

"He's okay. He feels bad about Cas." Dean looked away, then back to Bobby. "Did you know about Cas?"

"Yeah. I heard about it when I … well, you know. Been trying to find a way to tell you ever since," Bobby said sourly.

He flickered, losing his shape for a moment. Missouri frowned.

"Bobby, you got to concentrate on staying visible."

"I'm tryin'!" Bobby flickered again.

"Hunting spirits for years and can't make the first connection of how to draw energy," she muttered to herself. "When you boys run into a ghost, what's the first thing you notice?"

Dean looked at Bobby's flickering face. "Air gets cold."

"Right. Ghost is drawing the energy – the heat – from the surrounding air to manifest." She looked at Bobby. "You have to concentrate on your body. I know it's hard, you feel like you're flying off into a thousand little pieces all over the place, but you have to concentrate on it, remember it, feel it, pull it together."

Bobby frowned, closing his eyes. Dean looked at Ellie as the air temperature around them dropped noticeably, and Bobby became solid-looking once again.

"Better." Missouri watched him. "Now that same energy is in everything – living or not – it fills the spaces between. You can draw on it wherever you are. Just concentrate."

Their breath was coming out in a crystalline fog. Under his arms, Dean felt the table cooling as well.

Bobby looked completely solid, and he reached out tentatively to the salt shaker, sitting at the end of the table. He tapped it and it wobbled. He looked up with a grin.

"That's more like it."

Missouri laughed. "Practice. You gotta keep practising. Most of the ghosts you laid to rest had been around for a long time. They had plenty of practice. You're just a newcomer to the spirit world, Bobby, so you gotta work at it."

He nodded, walking around the kitchen, touching the dishcloths and making them flutter, turning the coffee pot around on the stove. The kitchen was icy cold now, and Ellie shivered in her light jacket.

Dean looked at Missouri. "Why didn't we have this much trouble when we went out of our bodies?"

Missouri rolled her eyes at him. "Your bodies were alive; they're a source of infinite living energy. They're still connected to the soul and it can draw off that energy through the connection. That's why you need someone to guard your body if you go out of it. It has to be looked after, kept warm." She looked at Bobby. "But a ghost has no body. They have to draw their energy from whatever's around them. They can take it from the living, or from the air, or from the ground, the sun, the table," She rapped her knuckles on the solid surface, "from anywhere."

"It's hard to remember you have a body when you first pass over. It's easy to get lost in the sunlight, or watching things that you've never seen before, or even just watching the people you've left behind. Takes a real effort of will to come back together, to manifest."

She looked at Dean. "Next time someone you love passes, Dean, call me first."

He nodded. He should have thought of her. She could've told them straight out if Bobby was around or not. He exhaled softly. It had been a long time since they'd seen Missouri, and too much had happened. And neither of them had been thinking clearly since Bobby had died.

Missouri looked at the clock on the wall. It was midnight.

"That's about all I can do for you," she said, releasing their hands and standing up. She turned to face Bobby. "Why did you stay? Why didn't you pass over?"

He looked down for a long moment, then looked over at Dean. "I didn't want to leave them unprotected."

Dean felt his throat closing up.

Bobby nodded and looked back at Missouri, a half-smile lifting one side of his mouth. "They're pains in the behind, but I love them, like they were my own. They're my family."

Missouri's smile was very gentle as she looked at him. "You keep practising, Bobby Singer. And keep them safe."

Ellie and Dean stood up. Missouri waited for Ellie and they walked down the hall, heads bent together.

"You gonna be all right?" Missouri asked softly. Ellie nodded.

"Yeah. Don't worry."

Dean walked slowly after them, feeling Bobby's presence beside him. He could even smell the mix of whiskey and wool, gun oil and gasoline that had marked the man from the first time he'd met him. The scents brought the memories back more fiercely than the sight of him did.

"Do you know what the Leviathans are doing, Bobby?" he asked quietly.

"I don't remember. It'll come back. I remember it was important to get that number to you, it had to do with their end game, but the details are gone."

Dean nodded. He watched the two women walking in front of him. "Bobby, what you said to Ellie, about telling someone something – what did you mean?"

Bobby flickered and vanished. Dean looked around, and huffed in frustration. He patted the flask in his pocket.

"Don't be a stranger." Missouri looked at them from the doorway as they got into the truck. "If you need help, just call."

Ellie nodded. "Take care of yourself, Missouri."

Dean raised his hand and twisted around in his seat, reversing back out of the drive and onto the street. He'd seen a motel four streets back, as they'd come into the suburb, and he retraced the route.

* * *

The office was open, a teenager coming out from the back when they rang the bell.

"Two rooms, please." Ellie leaned on the counter, feeling exhaustion crunching down on her bones.

"Adjoining or separate?" The boy looked at them.

"Separate," Ellie said.

"Adjoining," Dean said at the same time.

She looked at him.

"Just a precaution, if any one we don't want to see turns up," he said in a low voice.

The teenager looked from one to the other. Ellie nodded reluctantly.

"Adjoining."

She pulled out her wallet and handed over the cash, taking the keys. "Thanks."

"Rooms 14 and 15." He pointed to the far corner of the forecourt. "In the corner."

They got back into the truck and Dean drove it across the lot, parking in the slot for 14. Ellie leaned back in the seat, unwilling to move again so soon. Dean turned off the engine and looked over at her, unease at the uncharacteristic tiredness rising again.

The windows inside the cab fogged suddenly, going from transparent to opaque in a moment. Dean stared at the window next to Ellie as lines were drawn through the moisture, on the glass. Ellie watched, her mouth twisting as she recognised the kanji.

恋

Dean frowned at it. "Is that … Japanese?"

Ellie closed her eyes and swore silently at the ghost in the car with them. "No idea."

She opened the door and got out, yanking her bag out and slinging it over her shoulder. _Stop pushing, Bobby_, she thought acidly as she walked to the door of 14 and opened it.

* * *

Ellie put her bag down on the floor as she closed the door behind her, leaning up against it. _I can't do this_, she thought tiredly. _It's impossible_. She walked to the bathroom and started to strip off, turning on the taps for the shower.

Being with him, riding with him, it was too familiar, too comforting. It brought back all the memories and screwed up all her defences. She was doubting her decision, catching herself wondering what he was thinking, what he was feeling. None of it changed a damned thing.

It was a devilish quadratic equation where both answers could be equally right, and there was no way of telling which one was. It could have been a single mistake. Or it could have been an indication of feeling. It might never happen again, or it might happen next week. Dean didn't know, didn't know why it had happened. And she couldn't find the courage to try to trust in him again.

She stepped under the hot water and closed her eyes, revelling in the heat as it penetrated her muscles and eased the tensions. Her skin was sensitive, one of those side-effects that affected a certain percentage but not all. She shut out the images and memories that flooded her mind and tormented her body, and concentrated severely on getting clean.

* * *

Dean lay on his back on the queen size bed. _Bobby was here, he'd stayed_. The knowledge came with relief, and sorrow, and an ache in his chest. He should've called Sam, told him, but he couldn't do it over the phone, needed to see his brother's face when he told him. The thought that he could have found this out months ago still rattled around in his head. They'd been in Kansas a lot over the past couple of months, you'd think someone smart would have thought to pay a visit to a psychic living in the state, one they knew and could trust.

He rolled over onto his side and looked at the flask sitting on the nightstand. He didn't want a drink, for the first time in a long time. Not even to blur the pain of Bobby's sacrifice; not even to take the edge off the thrumming ache in his body when he thought of the woman in the room next door.

There had been a lot of undercurrents tonight, undercurrents between Ellie and Missouri, between Ellie and Bobby, that he'd seen but not understood. The memory of the shock, and then disappointment on Missouri's face when she'd greeted Ellie – _what had she seen?_ From the smack he'd gotten, she'd seen at least some of Ellie's feelings … but it didn't make the shock more understandable. Then there was Bobby's cryptic comment. _Tell who? Tell him what?_ He closed his eyes, trying to remember the details of the moments, but he hadn't been paying enough attention to them, had noticed their importance after they'd occurred.

That familiar shock through his nerves, when he touched her hand. That he remembered. And he remembered seeing it reflected on Missouri's face, as she felt it through him, maybe through Ellie's hand as well. At least that hadn't changed, he thought.

Sleep didn't seem to be getting closer tonight, in spite of the fact that he was wrung out by the day. He could hear the shower in the next room, the walls the usual paper-and-paste thickness. He heard it stop a moment later, the taps running and turning off, the squeak of the bathroom door opening and closing again. The door that linked the two rooms was next to the bathroom, and closed but not locked. He still felt uneasy about Crowley's about-face on their agreement. He might have been looking for Cas but sending demons everywhere didn't seem to be a very smart way of doing it – and no matter how he felt about demon, he couldn't accuse him of being dumb. How had they pinpointed the hospital so quickly? Or were they after Lucifer? He rubbed a hand over his face in frustration. Everyone's motivations had been easy to pick only a few years ago.

He looked at his watch in the pale light from the windows. Two o'clock. He had to get some sleep or he'd be running them off the road in the morning.

* * *

He woke abruptly an hour later, the sounds from the other room weren't loud, but they were steady, they'd been going on for some time. He was off the bed and at the connecting door before he'd realised he'd moved, easing it open and listening in the darkness. Crying. Ellie was crying. He could hear her harsh indrawn breaths, and the low, wracking sounds of her sobbing. He hesitated on the threshold, looking into the dim room, trying to see if she were awake.

He walked a couple of steps into the room, his eyes adjusting to the lack of light, and saw her moving restlessly, the covers tangled around her legs, her shoulders shaking. As she turned over toward him, he saw her eyes were closed, her face wet, and contorted into a grimace of pain. He crossed to the bed, bare feet soundless on the carpet, and lifted her, holding her against him as his fingers wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"Ellie, wake up." He looked down at her, his heart twisting inside his chest. "Wake up, you're dreaming. Wake up, Ellie."

She started against him, her head snapping away as her eyes opened. For a moment she was still, the dream receding as she registered the room, the man beside her, then she pulled herself away from him, turning her face to the other wall.

"You okay?" He didn't want to leave her like this. Didn't want to leave at all.

She nodded, wiping her face with the back of her hand. He hadn't moved. She should have been feeling anger, she thought, but she had no energy for it. She half-turned back.

"I'm fine. Just a nightmare."

His hand reached out, without thought. As it touched her shoulder, she pulled away again, beyond his reach. He looked at her back, at the long spill of hair over it, and felt the rejection like a blade of ice, ramming straight through him, taking the air from his lungs.

"Sorry."

He got up and walked back to the other room, closing the door behind him. Lying on his side on the bed, he stared at the dark window in front of him, forcing his lungs to inflate and deflate, concentrating on that one task.

Knowing that he'd hurt her had been torture, but seeing it, hearing the rawness of her sobbing, pain that followed her even into her sleep, that was something else … there wasn't even a word for it. He understood why she'd moved away from him, unable to bear even the smallest gesture of comfort from him.

He'd been kidding himself the last two days, kidding himself that there was a way through what happened, that they could find it. Now he realised that he couldn't hold onto that hope, it wasn't that simple, he'd hurt her too badly, and every time he saw it, he felt himself wounded as well.

He hadn't asked for help since the Garden, the small and barely formed faith he'd had then ripped into shreds by Joshua's words. Now, he took a deep breath and sent out a plea, not for himself, but for the woman lying alone in the next room. She believed, even if he didn't. And she needed help.


	12. Chapter 12 Is There A Future?

**Chapter 12**

* * *

Ellie rubbed her eyes as she tried to stay awake. They'd left at dawn, heading west and then north, the early sunlight mercilessly showing up the lack of sleep on both their faces.

Dean hadn't spoken at all. He kept his eyes fixed forward, watching the road, watching the traffic, the shadows under his eyes like bruises. They'd stopped at Abilene after a couple of hours, getting gas and coffee. He'd pumped the gas, drunk his coffee and gotten back into the truck without even glancing at her. He was in lockdown, thoughts and feelings pushed far down, inaccessible, operating on autopilot. She'd seen him do it once. She thought Sam had seen it quite a few times.

She couldn't have prevented the involuntary movement away from him, and she wasn't sure she would have even if it had been deliberate. Spending time together had thinned out her armour, and she felt every look, every touch, no matter how casual, it was scraping her, down to the nerves. When she'd woken, felt his arms around her, the scent of him surrounding her, for a moment it had been as if the last few weeks had been a dream, a nightmare, and she'd finally woken up. Reality had wiped that feeling fast, emotions and memory had come crashing down, and fear had propelled her away from him, fear of herself maybe more so than fear of him.

She closed her eyes, leaning back into the corner. This year had been so different. Cas' death, the poison of Osiris, then Bobby's murder, and the anger that had come with the grief, being hunted out of every place they'd ever found sanctuary … was it so surprising that he'd lost his way?

No, she thought slowly, it wasn't. It didn't change anything though. Didn't change that she'd put her trust in him, and it hadn't been enough.

* * *

Dean glanced at Ellie as they bypassed Denver, skirting the city around two o'clock. She was asleep again, curled up in the corner with her jacket draped around her.

He felt thought and emotion seeping back into him, the rigidity of his muscles relaxing as the paralysis of the lockdown faded away. He knew a lot about pain, all kinds of pain, there'd been times when he'd felt as if he were constructed of it. He shook his head slightly. He didn't want to go through that pain again.

He thought of her face last night and the way he'd recognised that agony. Loss of trust, betrayal of trust led to despair more quickly than anything else could. He'd felt it rip him up inside when Sam had chosen Ruby over him. He'd felt it eat him alive when he'd realised that he couldn't look at his brother, because all he saw, over and over again, was that betrayal and if he didn't leave, find his own way, he would die from the pain of it. The loss had changed their relationship forever. He loved his brother, always would, but the trust that had been rebuilt slowly over the years since was not the same.

He knew how it felt. Yeah, he knew what she was feeling.

* * *

Ellie woke at dusk. She looked over at Dean, the soft light painting his skin mauve and gold, seeing that the tension had gone from him, his hands were relaxed on the wheel, and he turned to look at her, drawing in a deep breath, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

She looked away, not knowing what to make of that.

"Where are we?"

"Just passed Douglas, about forty minutes out from Casper." His voice was deep and soft, holding a warmth she hadn't heard for a while. "You hungry? We need to stop soon, tank's almost empty."

She nodded. "Yeah, starving."

He took the first exit to Casper and found the service station at the next intersection. They pulled in and Ellie unfolded herself from her corner, grabbed her bag and headed for the building's restroom. She felt tired and grimy and still groggy from sleeping so much.

* * *

He was standing at the counter, debating the pros and cons of the meatball sub with the attendant when she came into the restaurant.

"They're messy," the attendant said, wrinkling his nose.

"Well, yeah, you're not going to have one if you're wearing a suit or about to go to a funeral, dude, but the taste sensation outweighs the spillage problems by a hundred to one." He leaned on the counter. "And what d'ya think these were invented for?" He grabbed a handful of serviettes from the holder and waved them at the attendant.

Ellie walked up beside him, looking at the attendant.

"I'll have one too, thanks."

The attendant rolled his eyes and put another sub into the toaster oven.

"Good choice." Dean nodded.

"I thought so." She leaned on the counter beside him. "Anyone serving pie in here?"

He looked around, eyes brightening at the revolving case on the end of the counter. "Looks like."

The attendant brought back the two subs, steaming slightly from the wrappings. Ellie looked over at the case.

"What kind of pie do you have?"

"Blueberry and cherry."

She looked over to Dean, one eyebrow raised. He mouthed 'blueberry' at her, rolling his eyes.

"Two slices of blueberry, please."

They walked back out to the truck and he moved it from the pumps, parking in a quiet section away from the store. The smell of meatballs filled the cab. Dean licked his fingers when the pie had gone the way of the sub, picking up the container of coffee.

"You must be running on fumes by now?" She glanced over at him, wadding up the wrappings and putting them into the plastic trash bag behind the seat.

"I'm okay for a bit longer." He pulled the map on the seat between around a bit more. "We can get through Casper, get up to Buffalo by about seven. Find a motel there, and then a few more hours drive tomorrow."

She nodded. "You called Sam?"

"No. Figured he'd have called me if he had a lead on something. I told him this would take a few days."

"Sorry I haven't been helping with the driving," she said, a little reluctantly, she didn't want to explain why, hoping the apology would be enough. He turned his head to look at her carefully.

"That's okay. I like driving." He waited for a moment, wondering if she would offer an explanation, then added, "The tiredness, Ellie … what's going on?"

She shook her head. "Nothing serious, there's nothing wrong. Just not getting enough Wheaties or something."

He wanted to press her, because there obviously was something going on. But he couldn't find the courage to risk the fragile truce between them. She was looking at him, talking to him. He didn't want that to disappear.

"Let's get going."

* * *

He passed through Buffalo at seven thirty and still felt okay. Ellie didn't comment as they drove through, and he took the entrance to the 90 at Billings an hour later. She put on more albums, and they listened to blues as they headed west, headlights and taillights on the interstate the only scenery to look at.

He yawned as they came up to Bozeman. Sixteen hours was enough for anyone. Ellie was sleeping, and he took the exit into the city slowly, cruising through the outer suburbs. The motel's vacancy sign was bright in the dark streets. He pulled into the lot and got the keys from the manager, managing to find the slot in front of the rooms with only a little difficulty, more to do with the fading paint than his weariness.

He unlocked the rooms and unloaded their bags, looking doubtfully at Ellie every time he passed. He'd slammed the truck door and switched on the interior light, but she was still asleep. Most hunters never lost the ability to come from deep sleep to full wakefulness at the crack of a twig. It made him wonder again what was going on with her.

He hovered beside the passenger door, unsure of what to do. He couldn't leave her in the truck. He didn't want to try and carry her in and have a repeat of the last attempt either. His skin wasn't feeling thick enough for repeated rejections right now. He'd tried talking to her, shaking her, she'd remained stubbornly unconscious. He was tired and he couldn't just stand there, staring at her through the window either. He opened the passenger door, and she fell back, into the support of his left arm. He pushed the door wider and slid his right arm under her knees, lifting her out, and shutting the door again with his hip. Her head was back over his arm this time, and he walked to her room quickly, feeling the bite of the cold mountain air. He lowered her onto the bed and closed the door, locking it then walking back to the bed to look at her. She was still completely out.

Boots. Boots he could take off. He pulled them off and dragged the covers from the other side of the bed, drawing them over her carefully. He crouched beside her, and pulled the hair band from the plait that held her hair back, running his fingers gently through the strands, loosening them. He stood up reluctantly, not wanting to leave, but not wanting to be the creepy guy who stayed and watched her sleeping either.

He walked through the door that linked the two rooms and closed it, going straight to the bathroom. A hot shower and a lot of sleep was what he needed, the road up into the mountains tomorrow would be a lot more demanding than the straight runs of the interstates.

* * *

Sleep was slow to come. He kept thinking of trust. He had trusted her with every secret he'd had. Even the worst ones. The ones he couldn't look at straight on. She'd never betrayed that trust, never thrown anything back at him, never even looked at him doubtfully. He could feel the foundation of that trust, like mountain rock under his feet. He'd tested her pretty severely, and not once had she used what she'd known about him as a weapon against him.

The thought was breaking him, because it should have gone both ways. And now, he thought, no matter what happened, it never would. They might be able to be friends again, some day. But she would never trust him the way he could trust her, without fear, without doubt.

He loved her. With everything he was, with every cell, every beat of his heart, every fibre of his being. That love was so inextricably woven into his soul that he thought that the connection would reach out to her no matter where they were. Or would hold him near her, disembodied and unable to move on if he died before her.

And she had loved him, he knew, loved him with a fierce and gentle intensity that astounded him, healed him, maybe even saved him. And he'd been careless and he'd been self-indulgent and he'd dropped it. The fragments were all still there, and maybe he could find them all and put them slowly back together, if he had enough time, if she gave him enough time, but it would never be the same as it had been.

Love was forgiving of anything. Trust was much harder.

* * *

Ellie rolled over, her legs tangled again in the covers at the end of the bed. The curtains were drawn and only the LEDs on the appliances gave light to the blackness that filled the room, outlining the edges of the furniture, the edges of her features.

_She was standing in a shallow stream, willows on one side, a stand of old oaks on the other, held by chains at her wrists and ankles to a rock that sat in the centre of the trickling flow of water._

_Dean stood in front of her, looking down at the chains that bound her._

"_Dean?" She heard the pleading note in her voice. "Dean, undo the chains, please."_

_He turned and looked up the stream, listening to the rumble of thunder in the distance. The first gusts of wind, riding out ahead of the storm, ruffled his hair, as he turned back to her. She felt her own hair lifting as the wind picked up strength and the trees to either side began to sway, and then bend with its force._

"_Dean …"_

_He turned away and walked out of the water, climbing the bank. She heard the stream chuckle as the water rose, covering her feet._

"_Dean!"_

_He looked at her, and it was him. There was no demon hiding behind his eyes, no ghost controlling him. It was him. He turned away, walking between the wildly lashing willows to the field beyond._

_Ellie looked at the water, now risen to her knees, and began to struggle against the chains that bound her to the rock. There was a sharp crack as several branches from the oaks broke off and fell to the ground. The willows were bending almost to ground level, springing back up, their leaves tumbling and spiralling up into the sky._

_The water was above her hips, and she screamed his name into the force of the wind as she fought the iron shackles. Clouds were racing above her now, the thunder roared, shaking the ground, and lightning snapped and crackled between the earth and the heavens. The rain came, sheeting down like curtains of silver, and the stream kept rising, faster and faster._

_Two of the oaks fell, broken and uprooted by the force of the storm. The willows were thrashing back and forth on the other side of the stream. Around the rock, the water swirled and parted, rejoining behind it, and she could feel it being worn away, the chains loosening as the stone disintegrated beneath the strength of the water. She stepped away from it, watching as the water reached her shoulders and the erosion continued around the chains that held her hands. When she was free, the water suddenly dropped. The sky cleared. The wind died. She looked at the iron clasped around her ankles and wrists and it shattered, falling in pieces into the few inches of water that tumbled over the stream bed._

She woke, gasping, sweat running through her hair, her t-shirt damp, the dream vivid and immediate in her mind. Freeing her feet from the covers, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat there, waiting for her heart to slow down, her breathing to steady.

It had been him. Not all of him, she knew, but a part of him. The part that still didn't believe in salvation, the part that still didn't believe he could be loved perhaps. Maybe that part of him would do it again. Maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he would choose to do it differently next time. There were no guarantees, no fixed path. Life was change, every minute, every second, it changed, and people changed too. And love was the most mutable of all. Like water, it filled where there was a void and ran off where there was resistance. It flowed around obstacles, eroding them in time.

She stared at the wall, at the door set in it, that connected her room with his. She had thought he would never hurt her. And she knew, even now, that he would die willingly before doing so deliberately. But she'd made no allowances for human frailty. For his frailties. Of all people, she knew him well, she knew the scarring and the wounds, she knew his weaknesses and his flaws. What he'd done, had come from them, not out of carelessness, not out of malice.

She bowed her head as another thought rose in her mind. He'd trusted her with everything. He'd told her everything. But she hadn't let him in as much as he'd let her. She sighed, rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand. A part of that had been because he didn't often ask, and it was her nature not to revisit the past. But a part had been reluctance, a fear that he would see in her memories, in the things that she had done, how much she needed him. She'd given her love, but she hadn't let him see just how deep it went.

She could stay fixed and in pain, expecting a safety net. Or she could let go of her need for safety and just live instead, accepting the risks, not fearing them. Only the adaptable survived, she'd known that for a long time.

She wiped her face shakily and got to her feet, going to the bathroom and turning on the shower. She pulled off the damp t-shirt and stepped under the water, sluicing the sweat and tears from her face and hair, the sense memory of the water in the dream shocking her as the water ran down her legs and over her toes.

Love was a demanding goddess, she thought absently, tipping her head back and letting the spray beat over her face. She was forgiving of everything, yet she demanded everything as well. There was no loving someone a little bit. You loved all of them, or none of them, but there was nothing in between. Her feelings hadn't changed, despite her best efforts to stop herself from loving him, from wanting him. That told her something as well. Love didn't exist in a vacuum, it had to be reciprocated to remain, to grow. It was only when it wasn't that it withered and died. People sometimes changed themselves, but no one else could change you, only you could do that.

She turned off the taps and stepped out, drying herself quickly, the fever heat of the dream gone and the cool of the evening bringing goose bumps to her skin. She walked back to the room, closing the bathroom door behind her and bent to look through her bag for another clean shirt.

That precious thing she'd given him had been herself. But she had changed. She wasn't the same person who'd let him in more than two years ago. Everything that had happened since then had changed her. And had changed him. Maybe promises needed to be broken so that new ones could be made.

She reached for the comb, and ran it through her damp hair, staring at the wall.

* * *

Dean knocked softly at the door, not wanting to wake her if she was still sleeping. It opened straight away and he stepped back awkwardly.

"I …uh, just wanted to see if you were awake."

"Dying for breakfast, actually." She picked up her wallet, tucking it into the pocket of her denim jacket and walked into his room.

"Uh … I think there was a diner on the corner." He turned to watch her. She looked rested this morning, her skin and hair glowing with health, and … different. The sadness that had been in her eyes, been constantly there, was gone.

"I could walk there." She opened the door and walked out, buttoning her jacket as she felt the cool morning air, looking back over her shoulder at him. "You coming?"

He followed her, retrieving wallet, keys and room key on the way out, and pulled the door shut behind him. The flask sat on the nightstand where he'd put it the night before, still three-quarters full. Bobby manifested in the room slowly, the temperature dropping as he painstakingly drew energy from the air. He smiled.

* * *

Dean watched her eating. There was no tension in her this morning. He couldn't imagine what had happened to change things so drastically. He'd woken with the residue of his realisations that there was no simple way to repair what he'd done. That thought had dragged at him, had made getting up hard.

The last few days had brought home to him what he'd lost, exactly what that fucking thoughtless decision had cost him. Just everything he'd ever wanted. Only everything he'd desperately needed.

Ellie could feel him watching her, knew he didn't understand what had changed. She wasn't sure she could explain it to him, not yet. Not for a while, maybe. What they'd had in the past was still the foundation of what they could have in the future. She was nervous about it, she admitted to herself, she still had reactions that had to be dealt with, her mind was still throwing up images that hurt. She thought it might take her a couple of weeks to get through that part, to lay them to rest and dissolve their power.

* * *

They got going at eight, and by eleven, as the road started to climb higher, Dean couldn't stand it any longer.

"What happened last night?" He shot a sideways look at her. She shook her head.

"I don't know how to tell you that yet, to explain it." She drew her legs up, wrapping her arms around them. "When it's clear to me, I'll tell you, I promise."

He felt his heart stutter in a sudden double-beat, his breathing quickening. _What did that mean?_ He drew a deep breath, his hands flexing on the wheel, tightening. He'd done nothing but think about what had driven him, what he'd done and the reasons for it for the last few weeks. He needed to tell her.

"Ellie … I could talk about the pressures and the grief, about worrying about Sam and being so angry about Bobby, but it wouldn't matter. At that moment, that night, I didn't care about anything except me, I just wanted to not be me."

She looked through the windshield. "I know, Dean."

He threw a startled glance at her, surprised by her words and by the calm acceptance in her voice.

"I don't know if I can repair what I did. I know it's broken all to hell." He stopped, glancing at her again. She was looking at him, her face peaceful. "I know I can't undo what I've done – I can't make it like it was – "

"It doesn't have to be like it was, maybe." She shrugged, looking at the road ahead again. "Nothing stays the same, nothing living stays the same, everything's changing, all the time."

His knuckles whitened on the wheel, not understanding, wondering as if he was losing this chance as well. "What are you saying?"

She looked at him, seeing the tendons along his wrists standing out as he gripped the wheel, his pulse beating rapidly against the side of his neck.

"Dean … breathe."

He nodded, dragging in a deep breath. "Yeah, okay."

"I want to let go of what happened. I don't know what's going to happen next." She searched for the words, trying to find a balance between her hope and his. "I did realise that I was trying to hold on to something that was in the past, instead of letting it go and looking to see what might be there in the future."

He frowned, wetting his lips. She looked at him, seeing the gesture and smiling.

"The future between us," she clarified. "I told you I don't know how to explain it yet. It's just a feeling right now."

"But there's a future?" He had to ease his foot back off the accelerator as the truck surged up to eighty. "Sorry."

"I hope there is." She straightened up, stretching her legs out into the well. "That's not just up to me. It has to be what you want too."

The road was clear ahead of them for a few hundred yards, and he looked over at her. She was … relaxed. _How could she be so relaxed?_

"I do." He looked back at the road, recognising at last that the chance was still there, waiting. It was hard to believe in it, after everything that had happened.

"Want a future." He glanced back at her. "With you."

* * *

He pulled into the turnaround, sending gravel flying against the steps. Ellie exhaled softly, and opened the door, hooking her bag and sliding out of the truck. It felt as if she'd been gone for a month – or a year.

Dean backed the truck into its parking place, and turned off the engine, the silence engulfing him. He looked at Ellie, unlocking the front door, pushing it open, and got out of the truck, grabbing his bag from the back and walking over to the Pacer to put it in. His heart beat was still all over the place, speeding up, seeming to stop, not steady at all. Hope was making it hard to keep to one thought, one feeling. He still didn't know, exactly, what she'd meant when she'd told him she hoped for a future for them. It was up to her, not him, he thought nervously.

He walked slowly up the shallow steps, pushing the door a little wider as he followed her inside. She was in the kitchen when he caught up to her, filling the coffee pot and setting down a couple of mugs.

He walked to her and stopped, not wanting to say it. "I've got to get going … Sam …"

She turned around, nodding. "Yeah, of course."

He looked at her, searching her face, his mouth twisting into a wry half-smile that didn't hide the nervousness in his eyes. "I'm really afraid of doing something wrong right about now."

She looked at him and shook her head. "Don't be. I need some time to think about this, get over the reactions that I still have."

Stepping up to him, she slid her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against the hollow under his shoulder. She could feel him tense up, feel the tremble in his muscles, and she tightened her hold. "Don't be afraid."

He let his breath out slowly, and wrapped his arms around her, shaking with the rush of memory and emotion that simple action brought. Closing his eyes, he breathed in deeply, and that brought another rush, the sense memory so powerful he blanked for a moment, unable to tell if this was happening now, or in the past. He'd thought he'd never be able to do this again.

Leaving. Going to Whitefish. Talking to Sam. The thoughts were meaningless. He wanted to stay right here, preferably for another year or so. He felt her pull away and resisted his overwhelming desire to hold on to her, not let her pull back.

"I don't have a number for you." He looked down at her, feeling cold where she'd been pressed against him, and had left.

"I'll get in touch soon."

"Define 'soon'." He knew he was pushing too hard, he couldn't help it. Ellie's track record for getting in touch 'soon' wasn't all that great. He didn't think he could deal with a six month wait. Not now.

She stepped back, making a vague gesture. "I don't want to rush in and find that I'm still feeling resentment or anger or fear, Dean. I want to be clear."

"Okay, I get that." He nodded. "I … uh …,"

"I won't disappear."

"Yeah. I know." He lifted a shoulder, turning away, then looking back. "I know where you live, you know."

And she smiled, that brilliant smile that lit up her face, the smile that he'd been wanting to see for the last eight weeks, that he thought he'd never see again, and he felt his fear and doubts dissolve under it.


	13. Chapter 13 What Does It Mean To You?

**Chapter 13**

* * *

_**SR 200, Montana**_

He drove steadily, his gaze on the road, south east and then north east, aware of the noise of the tyres, the other traffic, the signs, but only distantly, his mind focussed intently on what had happened, on what he wanted to happen next.

She hadn't told him how she felt. She hadn't said, precisely, that it was going to be okay. She'd said, don't be afraid. She'd said, she'd be in touch. Now, away from her, he didn't know what those things meant. Should've gotten it straight, before he'd left, he thought worriedly. His stomach was churning, a mix of hope and anxiety. He didn't know how she'd been able to forgive him. Wasn't even sure now if she had. Had he taken everything she'd said the wrong way? Had he misread it?

He didn't know, anymore. He wanted to turn around, go back, ask her, and get it straight. He knew he couldn't. He'd have to wait.

* * *

_**Whitefish, Montana 4.00 pm**_

Sam looked at him, shaking his head. "Why didn't we think of that?"

Dean grinned and shrugged. "Damned if I know."

"So, can he manifest? Here?"

Dean looked around, his fingers on the flask. "Bobby? You gunna say hi to Sam?"

The air got colder, until they could see their breath hanging in white clouds in front of their mouths. Sam's eyes widened as Bobby materialised by the couch.

"Bobby, it's good to see you again."

"You too, Sam. You figure out what's going on while we was gone?"

Sam blinked. "Uh … no … not all of it."

"Mmm-hmmm, didn't think so." He looked around the cabin. "Good to be back here. Travelling all the time really ain't my thing."

* * *

Dean looked around and went to the fridge, grateful to see a six pack sitting on the bottom shelf. He pulled two bottles out.

"What else happened? How was Ellie?" Sam walked up behind him and took the bottle offered.

"She's good." Dean answered the only part of the question he could. He didn't know what else had happened, really, himself. Only that he had hope again. "We, uh, talked a bit."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "That's good, right? I mean, that's great."

"Yeah." He couldn't tell Sam the doubts that had assailed him on the drive back. He shut the fridge door and opened the beer, frowning as a memory tugged at him. "Sam, you ever heard of something called 'folic acid'?"

Sam thought about it, and shook his head. "I can look it up?"

"Yeah." Dean followed Sam to the laptop. He watched Sam type in the words. "And, um, see if it's related to … uh, fatigue. And bigger breasts." Sam looked up at him, eyebrow cocked. "Yeah, yeah, just type it in. And increased appetite."

Sam hit Enter and stared at the list of results, not daring to look at his brother. "Holy …"

Dean looked down the list, the single common word leaping at out him from every listing.

Pregnancy.

He felt his knees wobble and he sat down in the chair behind him.

* * *

_**Whitefish, Montana, 6.00 pm**_

"I gotta go." Dean grabbed his jacket and bag from beside the door where he'd dropped them two hours ago. When the initial shock had dissipated, he'd realised that he should have been on the road, should have been heading back there, he needed to talk to her.

Sam grabbed his arm. "Dean, hang on a minute. She would have told you if she was ready to talk about it."

"Sam, let go of me or lose your freaking hand."

"Do you really want to screw up the second chance you've got?" He let go of his brother and stepped back.

Dean froze at the door, letting his hand slip from the knob, looking at him. "What? Why would it screw anything up?"

Sam sighed. "She said she needed time, right? So you're going to give her, what? All of six hours and then turn up again, this time demanding to know about her being pregnant?"

Dean hesitated. Put like that, it didn't seem such a great idea. "You think I should wait?"

"Yeah! I think maybe you should." Sam ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

"This is Ellie, Sam. It could be weeks." Dean shook his head. "I can't wait that long."

"All right, all right." Sam held his hands up pacifically. "Just give it a night, okay? You can go back in the morning, if you still think it's a good idea. But give her tonight."

Dean dropped the bag to the floor and dumped the jacket on top of it. One night ... didn't seem so bad. He could wait for a night.

He nodded at his brother, relaxing slightly. "Yeah. Okay. That's probably a good idea."

* * *

He paced up and down the living room, rocking the wooden table a little on each pass. Sam left his fingers resting lightly against the screen's edge to prevent the laptop wobbling with each pass as well.

"You could sit down. Get some rest." He watched as Dean hit the far end of the room and turned back. His brother snorted and came powering back along the same track.

"This is … huge, Sam." He stopped by the table, and looked down. "It's … huge."

"Yeah, you said that already."

"What am I going to say to her?" He turned and slumped into the corner of the couch.

Sam swivelled around in the chair, resting his arm over the back and looking at Dean thoughtfully.

"Serious advice, dude?"

Dean looked up and nodded slowly. He needed something, something to give him a handle on it.

"Go and think about what this means to you – first. Just to you. Then you can think about what it means to both of you. Because unless you get how you feel about it clear in your head, you are going to screw it up, and I can't take any more of your depression, Dean."

"That's hilarious." He looked up at his brother sourly. He leaned back and tried to relax his body. Sam was right. He hadn't thought about anything other than getting back there and talking to her. And a major component of that was the going back part. The seeing her again part. The being with her part.

"Yeah, okay. You're right." He stood up and went to the stairs. "I've got to try and get this sorted out."

He walked up the stairs slowly. He hadn't used the upstairs bedroom since she'd been here last. Maybe it would be a good place to think about it all.

* * *

_A baby._

That was what it came down to, right? Pregnancies didn't last forever, only nine months and then … the thought brought a whole new range of emotions. Not just being a father to someone else's kid, _teenage_ kid, where all the hard yards had already been done; and not the kind that grew from birth to drinking age in three days. But an actual baby who would need years of love and care before they could even feed themselves. Years of parenting … uh huh. The emotions that were rolling over him were coming too fast to identify, to categorise. He'd been worried about being a father to Ben. Being a partner to Lisa. Why did he think he'd do any better now? _Because I love her_, the answer came through the thickets of conflicting thoughts and feelings. He would do whatever it took, he knew, whatever was needed of him. He might get some things wrong, might make some mistakes … who didn't? But he thought that the two of them would get a lot right.

_A baby. With Ellie._

They were both hunters. What would that mean? Would it be easier? Or harder? Or just different? She wasn't hunting now – in fact, he had no clue what she was doing now – but would that change? How would it work? He scratched along his jaw, feeling the two day growth itch. He should have a shower, shave … he started to get up then realised that he was looking for an excuse to do something other than think this through. Flopping back onto the bed, he rolled onto his side, staring at the timber panelling that lined the walls of the room.

He was going too fast. He didn't know anything, really, about how she was feeling, about him or anything else. Despite the hope, despite the fact that she'd held him, he couldn't help feeling it hadn't required enough of him, he hadn't paid for her change of heart, of mind. He'd been riven by the loss, none of Hell's tortures had equalled that pain, but he'd felt he deserved that, his choice had put them there, his suffering hadn't lessened her pain, her loss.

He sat up, rubbing the heels of his hands over his face. He was going to go nuts thinking about this stuff on his own. Even if he hadn't paid enough, she'd still changed. He thought of the night he'd seen her crying in her sleep. The … plea he'd sent out, hoping someone was still listening. Hoping someone would help her. Maybe it had been answered.

When they'd been together, he'd always felt hope, had always felt strong enough to be able to handle whatever came their way. He wasn't sure if that were a side effect of loving someone, or if it came from her, somehow. He didn't think that mattered so much. If they were together, they could figure it out.

_His baby._

No doubts there. But …wow ... huge, man. A father. He was going to be a father.

He felt the need to move around again, to pace, or shoot something, or do anything other than sit here and stare at the walls and try to think. _Come on_, he thought nervously, _if you can't get it together enough to figure out how you're feeling about this, how are you ever going to do it for real?_

He dragged in a deep breath. Did he want to be a father? The answer was … complicated. He did. And he didn't. He wanted to have his own family. But he didn't want to be like his father. Playing families with Lisa and Ben, he'd been well on his way to turning into his dad. But Lisa and Ben had been vulnerable. More vulnerable than he and Ellie would be, he thought. They'd been easier to find, easier to get to. He shook his head and tried to start again.

For the early part of their childhood, he thought that his father had mainly been running scared. He'd had two small children in his care, and he'd known virtually nothing of what had killed their mother, what was out there, who he could trust … from an adult's perspective, he'd been screwed six ways from Sunday.

Dean tucked his arm under his head, remembering the drills, the training, being dropped at Jim's or Bobby's, or by themselves in a motel room … he knew that his father hadn't wanted those things for them. He also knew that there was no way around them. He had a good imagination, and he was pretty empathic to others' pain, but he'd never had enough experience with love to be able to put himself into his father's place, or Sam's for that matter, when it came to what the demons had done to them. Even when the djinn's poison had given him visions of Lisa, bleeding and burning, he had the feeling that it hadn't eaten through him the way it had for his father, or his brother. Because he hadn't loved her to the depth that his dad had loved Mary; or Sam had loved Jess.

He couldn't face putting Ellie into those imaginings, and that reaction alone told him more about his father's pain and obsession than anything else he'd come up with over the years. What would he do if he were in that position? Wrong question. What _wouldn't_ he do in that place? _Nothing_.

He turned his face into the pillow as he thought of the expectations he'd had of John. Of the disappointments that had ground him down over the last couple of years. He hadn't been fair. He'd been pissed off. He had, he recognised with a sense of shame, wanted his father to make it all right. To take the load off him. He knew now that the load was the load, everyone got one and how heavy it was depended solely on how you looked at it – and what you did about it.

Now everything was different. But it had upped the ante at the same time. Being a father in this life meant drills and training, it meant danger and vulnerability and his family hostages to any thing out there who knew about them. He didn't want that. He couldn't deal with that.

He scowled. Damned if he did, damned if he didn't. As usual.

His grandparents had done it. Ellen and Bill had done it. Maybe they weren't the greatest examples, considering that none of them were alive now but the little he'd seen of those families, they'd been happy. And together. And had protected each other. It was possible, he thought. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind as much as he could. Did he want to be a father?

Yes.

_Ellie's baby._

He hadn't thought of what she wanted. Given the herbal tea and the folic acid, he thought she wanted to have it, but she hadn't said anything to him … he sat up, rubbing his hands over his face. Why would she have? Even the way they'd left it … they were a long way from … being where they needed to be to talk about it.

What if she didn't want him to be a part of it?

The thought chilled him, slowing his heart, making it hard to draw in a breath. She'd said _their_ future … he clung to that memory like a life ring. _Their future_. He stood up and started walking, back and forth across the width of the room. The words took on a talismanic quality, he thought of them as a single word, for a single concept. _Theirfuture_. He was jumping too far ahead, he knew it, but he couldn't stop himself. What did _theirfuture_ hold? What did he want _theirfuture_ to be? What did _she_ want _theirfuture_ to be? She hadn't answered him when he'd asked her before about having a family. And that had been before … before he'd fucked up. But she was pregnant, and she must be … he thought about the dates, brows drawing together as he tried to remember exactly when they'd last been together. Months ago now. At least three since they'd returned here from Spokane. So she wanted this child. Did she want him too? How could he convince her now?

He stopped dead in the middle of the room as a thought occurred to him. It was a strange thought, a terrifying and exhilarating thought, his stomach churning at the same time as his breath quickened. He shook his head slightly at the obvious inevitability. How had that not occurred to him before? Sure, it was out in left field, at least in his own life, but hell, most people would have thought of it straight away. What would her reaction be?

His nerves were crackling, the combination of the things he wanted, and the things he didn't know, colluding in an emotional whirlwind. The fact was that he hadn't ever considered it before – not even with Lisa, not even after a year with them. It had been one of those things that he didn't give mental room, that was too far away from what life was, as a hunter. But not any more.

Dean looked at his watch as he sat slowly down on the bed again. Two a.m. He needed to sleep. His body was aching with the efforts of the last few days, even if his mind was hopping around like a frog on a griddle. He'd have to stop on the way, his face screwed up as he tried to remember which towns lay along the road, how big they were. It didn't matter. He'd just check them out until he found what he wanted.

He pulled his boots off, and stretched out on the bed, putting his hands behind his head as he looked back over his thoughts. From his end, at least, the decisions were made. He knew what he wanted. He still felt the itch to get on the road now, because as Billy Crystal had once so eloquently put it, "_When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible_" – and yeah, it had been a chick flick, maybe the biggest chick flick, but still the orgasm scene had never been beaten – but he knew that would be a mistake. He was too tired. He had things to do before he could go back. And he thought, just maybe, that his brother could be right about him screwing it up if he went to her without being ready.

He didn't think he'd sleep. Too many thoughts, too many questions. But once he'd stretched out, and closed his eyes … sleep came.

* * *

_**Whitefish, Montana 8.30 am**_

Sam looked up as Dean came down the stairs.

"Thought you'd have been gone at dawn," he said with a grin.

"Uh, yeah. Have to pick up some stuff first." Dean went to the coffee pot and poured out a fresh cup. He'd showered, shaved and put on the cleanest clothes he could find, changing twice as he realised that he looked like he was trying too hard. "Anything on Roman?"

"Nada on everything." Sam stood up, picking up his cup and walking to the kitchen to pour himself another coffee. "Except for demon signs. They're everywhere."

"What d'you mean, everywhere?" Dean frowned, following his brother back to the table.

"I've had a bot keeping tracking of all the uploaded data on the usual stuff – weather, geological data, crime, crop data, stock data; right? Look at this." He turned the laptop around slightly, hitting the key for his database.

On the screen, the data had been formatted to show hits around a map of the country. Dean's eyes narrowed as his gaze moved from point to point. In some places, there were so many hits around the town or city, that the entire area was red. Memphis, Tennessee, was one of those places. Rochester, Indiana was another.

"Did you call Meg?"

Sam nodded. "It's quiet at the hospital, but the whole town has been under siege – thunderstorms, blight, insect swarms … apparently the local minister thinks it's the Second Coming." He brought up another window on the screen, a local news report from Rochester. Dean looked at the photograph of the hassled-looking minister standing in front of his church. The photographer had caught a bolt of lightning in the background. Sam looked up at his brother.

"Do you want to get over there?"

Dean shook his head. "And draw Crowley's attention to the place even more? No. Not yet."

He finished his coffee and put the cup down. "I'd better get going." He looked over the table. "You got printouts of this stuff? Ellie had better see it."

Sam handed him a file with a wry smile. "Pretty sure Ellie will have noticed this on her own, but it's all here."

"Yeah." He looked around the cabin. "Salt everything, Sam. Be careful."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. You too."

* * *

_**Thompson Falls, Montana 11.30 am**_

Dean felt his heartbeat accelerate a little as he drove down the main street, turning left onto the bridge. _Almost there_.

The road turned into a two lane blacktop on the other side, winding up into the foothills of the high ranges that cupped the town and the lake between them. He resisted the impulse to put his foot down as he exited the town limits, keeping to the speed limit, forcing himself to glance around at the scenery.

He was nervous. His palms kept slipping on the wheel. Had his father felt like this, on his way to see Mary Campbell? He couldn't imagine John Winchester being nervous, but he guessed it was possible. They'd been together a long time before all hell had broken loose and their life had been destroyed.

The turnoff came up quickly, and he eased the car onto the gravel, slowing down further. Now that he was here, he felt his doubts coming back. He wiped his hands on his jeans again, the car climbing up the steep road, between the thick stands of trees. He could see the clearing ahead, filled with sunshine, and the great rock face of the ravine wall, against which the house hunkered.

The truck was still parked where he'd left it yesterday, he turned his head to look at it as he pulled around to the front door. He turned off the engine and grabbed Sam's file. It was as good an excuse as any.

He got out of the car, and shut the door, his head down as he came up the steps, trying out a couple of different selections of words – _hey, Sam came up with this, and I_ – he looked up when he hit the stone porch, and the thought disappeared.

The front door stood open. Not all the way, just a couple of feet.

"Ellie?" He walked to the door, about to enter when he looked down. Along the threshold, he could see traces of fine powder dusted over the stone. Fine, yellow powder. He crouched and ran his finger along one, bringing it to his nose. Sulphur.

In between that heartbeat and the next, he underwent a familiar metamorphosis. His heart shrivelled and he felt cold fill his veins. Then both sensations were gone, and feeling disappeared, locked down, locked away. He rose and stepped through the doorway, his automatic in his hand, although he didn't remember pulling it out, his thoughts restricted to observation, information, calculation.

The hall was bright. He looked up, seeing the vaulted roof cracked through the Hebraic demon trap that had been painted on it. He noted without reaction the shards and chunks of stone from the roof that littered the stone floor, along with the splashes of blood here and there, and walked toward the living room. In there, the signs of a struggle were more obvious, tables and chairs upturned, books dragged from the shelves, curtains torn down from along two of the tall windows. More blood was sprayed over the long couch. He looked at it emotionlessly, focussing his attention on reconstructing what had happened here.

The doorway that led to the reference library and her study was closed. It was a hidden doorway, opened by a book placement lock in the shelves to the left. Sam had figured it out, but he'd never seen it, didn't know which books operated it. The bookcases along the wall seemed seamless.

He turned around and crossed the hall, walking down the hallway that led to the kitchen. A few things had been disturbed here, demons just throwing stuff around, he guessed. There was no blood in the hall, or in the kitchen beyond.

"_I won't disappear," _she'd said.

He felt his breath catch in his throat at the memory, and swallowed.

He walked out through the front door again and stood in the sunshine, pulling his phone from his jacket.

"Sam, I need you here right now." He closed his eyes. "She's gone."


	14. Chapter 14 Under New Management

**Chapter 14**

* * *

_**Thompson Falls, Montana – Nineteen hours earlier**_

Ellie listened as the car pulled out of the turnaround and went down the driveway. She felt … peaceful. Finally. She wasn't sure if what she was doing was the right thing, but it felt right. It felt real.

She poured out a cup of coffee and sat down, hands cradling the cup, thinking about the last couple of days. So much of the pain she'd felt had been not in what he'd done, but that she was cut off from him, unable to talk to him, to touch him, to give and receive comfort. She'd felt more alone, in those few days sitting next to him in the car, than she'd ever felt actually on her own anywhere else.

Being with him, that was right. She was alive, more herself, when he was there. She thought again of the dream she'd had, the epiphany on waking that she had shackled herself to the past, had not known him as well as she'd thought. It was frightening to give yourself to someone. It was more frightening to not, not risk, not dare, not hope. It occurred to her that neither of them had really understood what they'd had, how deep it gone in them, until it was gone.

She pondered briefly about whether she should have given him a heads-up on her condition, then rejected the idea. It was too soon. They were too far from where they needed to be to talk about that.

Her hand dropped protectively to her belly, fingers resting against the hard, flat stomach muscles. It would be a while before she started to show; she had time to figure out how she was feeling, time enough to give him a chance to work out what he wanted. There was no rush.

She finished the coffee and stood up, stretching upwards to get the kinks from the long drive out of her back and neck. She wondered how Sam was, what his reaction would be to Bobby's presence. They needed the help, she knew. All the help they could get. Their support network had been decimated.

Walking down to the hall, she picked up her bag, and was heading upstairs to unpack when she heard the soft crunch of tyres on the gravel outside. She left the bag on the stairs and turned, walking down again, her hand checking the SIG still tucked into the pancake holster in the small of her back.

The doorbell rang, and she opened the door warily. On the stoop, Crowley smiled at her.

"You know, for a human, you're surprisingly difficult to keep track of."

Ellie looked at him politely, her mind racing. The knife was in the study, _goddammit_, and the rounds in the SIG were just standard. She didn't think he could get into the house, the devil's trap on the ceiling above the front door was the Hebraic design, more powerful than Solomon's.

She let the silence stretch out a little further. "I'm sorry, I have an appointment with my manicurist in fifteen minutes, could you get to the point?"

Crowley smiled. "I'm looking for a friend, a mutual friend, I believe, a fine, feathered friend, and I understand you know where he is."

"Then you've been misinformed, Crowley. Castiel is dead, he died months ago." She stared at him coldly.

"No. He didn't." Crowley took a step toward her. "He was resurrected and he's living, well, somewhere in this great nation."

Ellie tilted her head slightly as she considered him. "Crowley, there are three people that God keeps a habitual eye on. Why would you want to get his attention by focussing on two of them?"

He stepped back, an almost unconscious reaction to the vague threat in her voice. "I don't think that God is going to interfere again, Eleanor."

"You don't think? There's solid risk assessment for you. Didn't Raphael fill you in?" She glanced up at the sky, lifting a hand to shade her eyes. "Must be hot standing out there, Crowley, why don't you come in and we can discuss this in a civilised manner?"

She took a step inside, opening the door wide. Crowley took a step toward the threshold, then smiled, looking up.

He stepped back again. "I'm rather enjoying the late season warmth. We can talk out here."

"Suit yourself." Ellie crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. "My knowledge of Castiel is that he's dead. He died months ago, when the Leviathans burst out of his vessel."

"You've been a pain in my derrière for a long time, Ms Morgan," he said slowly. "Nipping in and out of Hell when you feel like it. Handing out summoning spells. Screwing up my plans … it's a long list of offences."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm sure I'll pay for it in the long run."

"You'll pay for it now." He looked away, smiling. "Not to be melodramatic about it but there are things that the King of Hell can do that a little old crossroads demon just couldn't manage."

She straightened as she heard the sound of more tyres coming up the drive, glancing to Crowley. The sharp dark eyes narrowed at her.

"Like this." He lifted his foot and slammed it down onto the stone portico. Ellie threw herself back into the house as the ground shuddered, looking up and seeing the vaulted roof of the great hall crack across – across the trap. Crowley was already coming through the door. _Dammit_, she thought and ran for the living room. Behind her the stone walls echoed with the sound of rushing feet and the roar of demon smoke, the sunlight disappearing as darkness filled the house.

* * *

_**Hell.**_

Ellie woke slowly, keeping her eyes closed as consciousness returned, along with pain. The overwhelming smell of brimstone was nauseating, and told her precisely where she was.

She was bound to a chair, she could feel the narrow bonds cutting into her wrists and ankles where she'd leaned against them while unconscious. She listened, hearing nothing at first, then gradually her ears picked up sounds; someone breathing hoarsely nearby, a strange clunking noise further away, the intermittent sound of a bell even more distantly. She lifted an eyelid slightly, and saw that she was in a large room, furnished in modern, blonde timber and glass, the walls cream, the wall-to-wall carpet on the floor white. She opened her other eye and lifted her head slowly, looking around. To her right, another figure sat bound in a chair similar to her own. He faced away from her, and she could only see the broad, bent back. The furnishings gave the room a Scandinavian flavour, and she wondered briefly if the décor reflected personal taste or some inside joke of Crowley's. He was rather old to have developed a liking for Ikea.

She looked down at the binding on her wrists, and choked back a snort. Cable ties. Effective, no doubt, but a cheap solution that missed the point of psychological domination. She shrugged inwardly. _You can't buy good taste or wisdom_.

The door opened, and she turned her head, watching two demons enter the room, followed by Crowley.

"Awake? Good." He walked to the desk in front of her and leaned against it, arms folded. He gestured to the two demons behind her. "I believe you two know each other."

The demons turned the chair of the other prisoner around, and he lifted his head.

"Ellie Morgan? I haven't seen you since, when was it? 2006?"

Ellie kept her face expressionless as she looked at the dried blood and dark bruises that covered his face. "Long time, Frank. How're you doing?"

"Bout the same as last time. And you?"

She smiled. "Can't complain."

Crowley watched them, his mouth twisting with impatience. "Yes, well I'm sure we'd all love to catch up properly, but we're running out of time."

Ellie looked back to him, and wriggled her fingers. "Cable ties, Crowley? Really? Are you on a budget or just lacking psychological insight?"

Frank let out a short bark of laughter, covering it with a coughing fit.

Crowley frowned. "They're effective."

"Sure. And cheap. Just not very … you know, intimidating." She smiled. "You still using that endless-waiting-in-line scenario on the upper levels?"

He looked at her sharply. "How did you – yes, also effective."

"So … you've pinched the plot from a Winona Ryder movie to run Hell, you're downgrading the costs and the ambience … and this is for?" She gazed around the room, her expression faintly reminiscent of someone who's just detected an unpleasant odour.

"This is to make this place more efficient and easier to run!" Crowley shouted suddenly. "Do you have any idea how much time the old system took? How much energy? How many souls we needed to do everything the hard way?"

"No, no … I get it. You've turned Hell into Wal-Mart." She let the slightest smirk curve her lips as she watched him. Frank dragged in an audible breath. Crowley's face reddened.

"I could kill you right now and still get what I need. So don't! Push! Me!" He leaned over her, staring into her face.

Her eyes narrowed as she stared back. "If you could, I'd be dead already. Don't bluff with what you don't have."

He slapped her across the face hard, the edge of the onyx ring on his finger cutting her cheek. She waited until the ringing in her ears had stopped, and turned her head slowly back to him. Whatever he needed her for, he wasn't prepared to do much damage, she thought as she watched him.

"Where is Castiel?" He turned away from her, walking fast around the desk to the chair behind it.

"Florida. Soaking up the rays."

Crowley gestured to the demons. One hit Frank in the cheek, fist closed. The other walked to Ellie's side and slammed his fist into her jaw. She rode the blow as much as she could, jerking her head away as she felt the knuckle touch her skin. A sharp molar edge inside her mouth cut into the inside of her cheek, and she spat out a mixture of blood and saliva, thinking it looked quite impressive.

"Where's Castiel?" He leaned forward, fingers steepled in front of him, a gesture reminiscent of the late, unlamented archangel he'd been in bed with.

"I heard he was checking out the Giant Peanut, down in Georgia."

Crowley nodded again. The demon's fist hit her higher this time, aiming for the temple, but she turned her head slightly and took the blow on the arch of her brow instead. She felt the skin split over the bone, the trickle of blood drip onto her lashes. As the demon pulled its arm away, she saw a mark on the inside of the wrist, a sigil burned into the flesh.

She turned her head to Frank. "Sorry Frank, this could get pretty tedious."

"No problem, my dinner engagement isn't until June." He nodded.

Crowley looked from one to the other, the corner of his eyelid twitching slightly. He got up abruptly and walked to the door, jerking his head to the demons to follow him.

"This is a long way from over." He looked at Ellie. "And I _will_ kill you."

He walked out, slamming the door shut behind him. A picture fell off the wall, and Frank barked out another nervous laugh. He looked over at Ellie.

"He's right. He can kill us both here, no one the wiser topside."

She nodded. "Yeah. But he hasn't. Which means that he needs us both alive, for a while at least."

She rolled her neck, easing the stiffness from it. "How did you end up here, Frank?"

"Ah … not quite sure. I was working on the Dick Roman stuff and four demons burst into the trailer and the next thing I knew I was here." Frank shook his head. "Didn't have much in the way of demon protection – or weapons. I was expecting leviathans."

Ellie nodded. "Crowley asked you to do anything?"

"He's looking for a way to kill the leviathans. He thought I would be of use."

"And have you? Been useful?" She looked at him curiously.

"Not very." Frank smiled at her. "Not enough bandwidth down here."

Ellie laughed. "What a shame."

Frank looked around the room. "We're in Hell, aren't we?"

"Yep." She tensed her arm muscles, feeling how much give there was in the plastic ties. Not a lot, but she didn't need much. "Upper levels. Crowley remodelled when he took over."

She frowned as that thought tripped another. "Have you seen anyone else? Any other demons, I mean?"

Frank shook his head. "No, Crowley, the two goons with him, a few others I'd say were tasked with menial work only." He tipped his head back, trying to get his glasses higher on his nose again. "Why?"

"I'd like to know how Crowley came by his title." She looked at the desk in front of her. "There were a lot more powerful demons standing next in line, yet he managed to grab it without even having to fight."

Frank turned his head. "That's interesting."

"Isn't it."

"So, what's the plan?" Frank asked, watching her.

"We wait. Sooner or later, one of them will give us an opening." She glanced at him. "Until then, it might get a bit rough. Just so you know."

Frank shrugged. "I don't work in the field, Ellie."

"You do now."

* * *

Ellie looked down at the vivid red lines on her wrists. She'd gotten about all the stretch she could from the plastic ties. She could move her hand around a little, and she thought she'd be able to slide them out if she had to. Her ankles were easier, the high edge of her boots taking the brunt of straining against the thin plastic. There was enough room to twist them now, although she'd need her hands free first.

She and Frank had spent the time talking of what they'd been doing for the last few years. Inconsequential talk that was more restful than speculation on their situation. She didn't want to burn up her energy or Frank's.

When the door opened again, she was ready but Crowley seemed to have regained his temper and the demons that accompanied him stood beside the chairs without offering further violence.

"You know I kept a couple of the rooms downstairs just the way they were when Alastair was still with us. I didn't know why at the time, but I think they'll be just right for what I need now."

Frank looked at him, brows rising. "What is this? Some kind of torture thing?"

Crowley laughed. "Very apt. You can come along too, Frank. Stretch your legs."

The demons cut them loose and pulled them to their feet. Ellie staggered slightly as she stood, letting her weight fall onto the demon who gripped her arm. He supported her and shoved her upright, attaching a loose cord between her wrists. Very strong, she filed away the information thoughtfully. Crowley and the two demons held Frank and herself within a loose triangle. She didn't think she could do much to take all three out and get Frank out of the room ahead of her. A better opportunity would come.

They walked out of the room and down a pale green corridor, passing hundreds of souls waiting patiently in lines. Ellie sniffed disdainfully. Crowley's eyes narrowed as he looked at her but he said nothing.

At the end of the corridor the doors opened to an elevator. The last time she'd been here, she'd had to take a winding staircase down to the lower levels, hewn from the rock by hand. She wondered how many souls had been drained in order to create the bureaucratic hell Crowley favoured.

Crowley looked at her as the doors closed and the elevator started to descend. "Word has it that you and Dean Winchester are quite the item."

Ellie rolled her eyes. "You don't beat your informants often enough, Crowley. Dean and I split up months ago. He slept with someone else."

She felt Frank's twitch of surprise behind her. Crowley pursed his lips as he took that in.

"Interesting. Well, there's no accounting for taste." He smiled at her. "Funny then, that you were seen driving across country with him only two short days ago."

"That was a case, and it was not a pleasant trip."

"You're an excellent liar, and trust me, I'm a connoisseur in that area, but somehow I don't believe you." Crowley stared at the numbers blinking one by one in descending order above the doors.

She shrugged. "That's your prerogative."

"Yes. It is." The elevator stopped and the doors opened. She looked out into a cavern of black rock and dim reddish light, flames licking at the edge of sulphur pools, and chains hanging from the unseen ceiling.

"I see the Swedish decorator hasn't made it this far down," she commented, stepping out onto the uneven ground, and looking around calmly. Behind her, she heard Frank's sharply indrawn breath end on a small gargle.

"No, this is all just as it was under the previous management." Crowley pointed to two rock pillars a few yards away. "Hang her up on those."

Ellie walked between the demons. It was far from ideal, but she had the feeling she wouldn't get a better chance than this. She hoped Frank wouldn't freeze. As they reached the pillars, she threw herself against the demon to her left, hooking her foot around its leg and bringing it down, with herself on top of it. The other demon turned toward her and she rolled off quickly, swinging her arms up and over the fallen demon's head and dragging the cord that looped between her wrists tightly around its neck. She crouched behind it, her knee against its back, the cord biting deeply into the throat, the demon gurgling and slowly turning blue.

Both demons had a mark on their wrists, a circle with a line halfway through one edge. A binding sigil. Crowley appeared to be less in control of Hell than he liked to make out. The only problem with binding demons to the flesh of their meat suits was that when the meat suit died, the demon was trapped. And helpless.

She heard the death rattle in the throat of the demon she held and yanked the cord clear of its head, letting the body fall to the rock at her feet. The second demon was circling her warily now, perhaps understanding the meaning of the brand on its own body, or just making an assessment of an opponent, she didn't know. It didn't matter. As it came around behind, she ran for the far pillar, drawing it after her across the open ground. She'd almost reached the rock, could feel it no more than five or six feet behind her, and she dropped to the ground, her forearms taking her weight as she drew her legs up tightly then slammed them out. Her boot soles connected solidly with the demon's chest, on and below the ribs. It flew backwards several feet and she heard the outrush of air from its lungs as it landed. She was on her feet and pivoting, when Crowley lifted his hand.

Ellie felt herself lifted and flung backwards, her arms pulled out to either side as if she were on a rack. She stopped mid-air with a vicious suddenness, her head snapping forward and back and she saw the shackles rise from the sides of the pillars, snaking out on their chains toward her wrists and ankles. They locked around her, the power suspending her disappeared, and she fell, the chains snapping taut, the shackles biting into her as they took her weight.

Crowley strolled over, looking up at her. "I have to say, I'm impressed. Although what you thought you were going to do about me, I can't imagine."

She lifted her head slightly. "I'm sure something would have occurred."

"Yes. Now that I believe." He turned away and kicked at the demon's body. "Get rid of this rubbish, will you?"

The other demon got to its feet and dragged the dead body aside. Crowley turned back to Ellie.

"Torture is overrated, of course. I'm guessing that you have all sorts of mental tricks up your sleeves to circumvent it?"

She looked at him.

"Of course you do. But happily in this case, it's not really you I'll be torturing." He smiled and looked around, walking over to a rock outcropping a few feet away. He pulled an ornate gold-backed mirror from his jacket pocket, polished it for a few minutes with his sleeve and then set it down on the outcropping, adjusting it until Ellie could distantly see herself in it.

Crowley glanced at Frank, who was sitting in a chair, bound again. "So, now we're going to do the torture thing."


	15. Chapter 15 What Do We Do Next?

**Chapter 15**

* * *

_**Thompson Falls, Montana**_

Sam pulled up in front of the house and killed the engine. Dean was sitting on the front steps, his head resting on his arms. He looked up as Sam got out of the car.

"What happened?" Sam walked up to the steps, looking at the front door.

"Crowley." Dean stood up slowly and walked inside, gesturing at the roof. Sam looked up, seeing the crack that ran from the outer wall across the stone ceiling to the back wall. The demon trap that was painted over the stone had been broken through the centre.

"No one else has that kind of juice." Dean looked at Sam, his eyes chill. "There's sulphur and blood in the living room, I think that's where they caught her."

Sam nodded as he followed Dean into the large room. He looked around carefully, noting the blood spray, the direction, the amount. There were drag marks through it to the door.

"I don't think this is Ellie's blood," he said quietly to his brother. "There's a lot here, and they wouldn't have taken the body if the purpose was just to kill her."

He looked at Dean, his eyes worried. He could see that his control was stretched tight, too thin for anything more, for anything else.

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

He'd come to the same conclusion himself when he'd gone carefully over the room, searching for any clue that would tell him what had happened, where she'd been taken. It didn't make him feel any better. He knew Sam was worried about him, he was barely holding on, keeping his emotions under control only because he knew that to lose that control was to risk losing her. He allowed only two thoughts into his mind about her – Crowley obviously had a reason for taking her; and it was Ellie. She was smart, and frighteningly capable, and she would use the smallest opportunities, the most unlikely openings that came up.

"I don't know how to get into the other rooms," he said, looking at Sam. "There might be things we could use in them."

"Right, of course." Sam went to the bookcase on the far side of the room and set the books into their order. The long bookcase beside him clicked, and swung open, and they walked into the hidden rooms behind the wall.

Sam led Dean through the library and into Ellie's study, both of them turning as they felt the temperature in the room suddenly plummet. Bobby manifested by the door, looking around the room, then back to Dean.

"He wants her alive, that's a good thing, Dean," he said. Dean looked at him, and nodded slowly.

"Sam, see if you can find her knife." He turned away and started to go through the papers on the desk, looking for something, for anything that might give them an idea of where to look.

Sam smiled reluctantly as he saw the long slender knife sitting on top of a pile of opened envelopes. Only Ellie would use _this_ knife as a letter-opener. He picked it up.

"Got it." He turned back to the pile of papers stacked beside the row of printers, leafing through them. "She was definitely following the same lines as Frank. These are search results for Roman."

"Look for something to do with Crowley," Dean said tersely. "It wasn't leviathans that broke in here."

Bobby moved around the room in a series of jerking flickers, the temperature dropping a little more as he drew more heat from the air. He looked at a pile of books on a table next to the armchair, old books, their bindings broken or cracked, their covers faded and worn. A piece of parchment was sticking out from the book on the bottom of the pile, and he turned to Sam.

"Sam, come and look at this."

Sam walked over, lifting the pile and putting it onto the chair. He opened the book to the page that the parchment marked, and his brow wrinkling as he read the text. He looked from the book to the parchment. The markings on the parchment were almost cuneiform, so ancient was the writing.

"Bobby, can you read this?" He bit his lip, re-reading the page, handing the parchment to the ghost.

Dean looked up. "What is it?"

"Did Ellie ever say anything to you about opening gates into Hell?"

Bobby looked at Dean. "Back when Cas was the problem, when she got the summoning spell for Crowley – she told us she'd gotten it from Hell."

Dean nodded, the memory rising, in Bobby's kitchen, late at night. He'd thought she was joking. He walked over to Sam and looked past him to the book, reading the page. It was about opening a gate to Hell. Maybe she hadn't been joking.

"I think this is a spell. To open a gate. I'd need a lot more time to decipher it, and a key." Bobby held the paper up close to his face. "And a pair of damned glasses."

"We'll take these." Dean looked at them. "And get our asses back to the cabin. This place isn't safe anymore."

"Why would Crowley take Ellie?" Bobby handed the parchment to Sam, who tucked it back into the book.

"I don't know. He's looking for Cas." Dean looked at the book Sam held. "But if she's been in and out of Hell, he might be pissed with her for some other reason."

"I didn't think a person _could_ get in and out of Hell." Sam looked at Bobby.

The ghost shrugged. "There's plenty of lore about it. Not saying it's probable, but it may be possible." He thought about the summoning spell for Crowley that she'd brought them. "It must be possible."

* * *

_**Kalispell, Montana**_

Dean pulled into the gas station and found an open pump immediately. He filled the tank and replaced the nozzle, pulling out his wallet as he headed into the store. There were two people waiting ahead of him at the counter, and he turned away, looking around at the displays, letting his gaze wander.

"Dean, what a coincidence. Fancy a chat?"

The crisp accent came from behind him and he turned slowly, knowing the accent, knowing the voice. Crowley smiled at him cheerily, Saville Row suit uncreased and beautifully tailored, dark eyes showing a glint of humour.

Dean looked at him coldly, feeling his rage expanding within. He caught a glimpse of his brother entering the station, Sam's head turning to find him, but he kept his eyes on the demon in front of him.

"Where is she?"

Sam had walked up to stand close behind him. Crowley looked at Sam for a moment, then turned his gaze back to Dean.

"Dean, you sound concerned." Crowley looked at him. "And Ms Morgan was so careful to explain that you two were _finis_."

"Cut the crap."

"What, and miss out on a splendid round of repartee with you? Perhaps you're right, never as much fun when you're in one of those moods." He pulled a mirror from his jacket pocket, an ornate gold-backed mirror and handed it to Dean. "This should answer all your pressing questions."

Dean stared at him, then looked down at the mirror. He could see what looked like a cavern, underground somewhere, two tall pinnacles of rock in the centre. Between them …

He felt his lungs seize, and he stopped breathing, lifting the mirror closer.

… Ellie hung between them, suspended by her arms from long chains, her hair loose and hanging over her face. Her clothing was shredded and stained with blood, it dripped down from her body to the floor.

He lifted his gaze from the mirror and looked into the demon's eyes. He couldn't feel anything. Not his fingers, curled around the edges of the mirror, not his heart, not the temperature of the air surrounding him, not the floor under his feet; no thought touched his mind, there was nothing …

"Shocking … isn't it?" Crowley looked from Dean's face down to the mirror and back. "After the … unfortunate incident last time, I thought I'd make it clearer this go-round. It's a simple deal. I will keep carving pieces off her until you hand over Castiel."

"Castiel's dead, you sonofabitch," Sam grated, his face twisted in anger.

"Do I really have to go through this again?" Crowley looked at him patiently. "Castiel is very much alive, and I know that you know where he is." He glanced at the mirror that Dean held. "Of course if you don't care about her, I'll just keep carving her up until I get to the little bundle of joy she's carrying, and find someone else to help find Cas. She's been a major pain in my arse, and to be frank, I'd welcome the chance to carve her into hors d'oeuvres."

Sam saw the shudder ripple through his brother's frame, and he stepped forward, his hand curling around Dean's arm. Crowley looked down at Sam's hand, then to Dean's face, with an expression of surprise.

"Oh, you knew about her delicate condition?"

Sam felt Dean's muscles contract but he wasn't quick enough to tighten his hold. Dean crossed the two feet between himself and Crowley, his hands knotted in the lapels of the demon's suit as the mirror clattered on the floor. For a fraction of a second, Crowley forgot that he was the King of Hell, forgot his power, and stared into green eyes that had darkened almost to black. Then his fear came back under his control and he gestured slightly, and Dean was flung back against the display behind him, Sam sent careening across the room into a row of shelving.

Crowley straightened his jacket, brushing at the crushed lapels. _This is what happens when power comes late in life_; he thought in annoyance, _you forget that you have it and the little habits of a lifetime take over_. He looked at them emotionlessly.

"You have two days to bring him here." He pulled a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket, and let it flutter to the floor. He bent to retrieve the mirror, glancing briefly into it and smiling at the images it showed. He was quite tempted to leave it with them, but he didn't think it would worth it. Neither of them would deliberately look into it again.

"If you don't show … well, you know what happens if you don't show, I don't need to labour the point, do I?"

He vanished.

Sam rubbed the side of his head, wincing as he pressed too hard against a tender spot. He got to his feet and picked up the sheet of paper Crowley had left, then hurried to his brother. Dean lay across the display, his eyes closed. He opened them as Sam took his hand, allowing himself to be pulled up. Sam looked at him, and felt his stomach sink rapidly.

His brother's face was paper white, his gaze fixed ahead. Sam grabbed his own wallet and walked to the counter, paying for the gas and turning back to Dean. He took his arm and pushed him through the doorway, holding him up as his feet stumbled over the low lip in front of the station. He got him over to the car, and got the passenger door open, Dean half-falling into the seat.

Just shock, Sam told himself. That's all. Just shock. He was shocked himself, at what he'd seen in the mirror, at the cold malevolence in Crowley's voice, at the threat that hit Dean the hardest. He started the engine and pulled out of the station, speeding up as they cleared the town's limits, driving fast back to the cabin.

* * *

_**Whitefish, Montana**_

"Bobby, need your help." Sam called out as he pulled Dean into the cabin. The temperature dropped like a stone and Bobby appeared in front of them.

"What happened?" He looked at Dean's face.

"Crowley showed up. He wants to trade Ellie for Cas." Sam pushed Dean into a chair. "He's been, uh … torturing her. He had a mirror … and um, we could see her in the mirror."

Bobby nodded, his face twisting into a grimace. "Uh huh. Shock, Sam, get the whiskey."

Sam poured a couple of inches into a glass and pressed the glass into Dean's hand. Dean looked down at it for a long moment, then lifted it, gulping the amber liquid down.

"Hot coffee." Bobby looked at Sam.

"Dean." He stood in front of Dean, looking down at him. "What do we do next?"

Dean stared at the table, then slowly wet his lips. "What?"

"What do we do next, son?" Bobby said, slowly and clearly, the air growing colder around him as he struggled to manifest more solidly. It was damned hard work being a ghost. He was getting the hang of it, slowly, but he kept stumbling over the recognition that he couldn't touch the boys again, couldn't give them the strength of his arms or his back again. It hurt, in a way he hadn't imagined it would.

Dean looked up at him, and Bobby watched memory and thought and pain return, the man shook his head at the ghost, wanting to deny it all, unable to. Dean sucked in a deep breath, his chest filling and expanding and lifting, then quietly falling again.

"We kill the sonofabitch."

"Right."

Sam brought a cup of hot coffee to the table, setting it down in front of Dean. He nodded to Bobby, grateful for his intervention.

"We're gonna need help." Bobby looked at them. "We ain't gonna last five minutes if Crowley has the slightest suspicion of what we're doing."

Sam nodded. "We need something to kill Crowley with as well." He looked at his brother. "I don't think the knife will do it now. He's gotten a big sackful of powers to go with his new job title."

Dean held the coffee cup between his hands, brows drawn together as he considered the problems. He looked at Sam.

"Did you get the drop-off instructions?"

Sam nodded, pulling the sheet from his pocket. "Huh … Sunrise, Wyoming."

Bobby looked at Dean. "The tracks still there?"

Dean nodded. "So far as I know. Except the section that psycho kid pulled up."

"I got an idea about that." Bobby flickered and vanished.

"That's unsettling." Sam glanced at the empty space where Bobby had been. Dean nodded absently.

"We need to start calling around."

* * *

_**Hell**_

Ellie opened her eyes, looking under her lashes and through the curtain of her hair without moving her head. The demon had gone. She could hear Frank's laboured breathing a few yards away, but there was no other sound in the cavern.

"Frank?"

"Ellie? Are you … stupid question, but are you alright?" Frank's voice sounded strained.

"I'm okay." She looked at the mirror, sitting opposite her on the rock. Crowley had the other one, the receiver. She knew what he'd done with it. She shut out the emotion that crowded into her mind with the thought, pushing it away to be dealt with when this was over. She hoped Dean would do the same.

The sulphurous air stung in the cuts on her arms and legs. They were superficial mostly, designed for maximum visual effect. She wasn't sure why he wasn't doing this for real; she couldn't imagine what further purpose he might have for her, but it gave her more time, and with time, there would be an opportunity.

Her shoulders were screaming and the shackles were scraping the skin off her wrists, leaving them raw, but she was still able to shut out the pain, and keep her mind quiet and calm.

"Frank, they still using the cable ties to bind you?"

"Yeah."

"Those ties have a bit of give in them. Can you work against them? See if you can loosen them up?" She drew in a lungful of air and started coughing as the dry, acidic taste filled her throat.

"I'll try."

She needed him loose. The shackles were a close fit around her wrists, flesh would give but not bone and she had nothing to slick her skin with, even her blood was drying too fast in the dry heat of the cavern. She closed her eyes and rested, imagining a small dark room, into which she could crawl, safe enough to sleep.

* * *

_**Whitefish, Montana**_

Sam closed the phone and looked at his brother. He was relieved that Dean had regained a measure of control again, but he wondered at the depths of the emotions he could sense churning in him, held beneath the surface veneer of silent professionalism.

"We've got Garth, Twist, Dwight and Marcus. They'll meet us at Rapid City tonight."

Dean nodded, his hands moving automatically over the gun, breaking it down, cleaning the barrel, oiling the firing mechanism, reassembling it, reloading it. He needed to keep busy, to keep moving. If he stopped, he would think. If he thought, he'd lose it.

Bobby sat by the window, the high magnification lamp over the parchment, transcribing the spell laboriously. The language was Akkadian. He'd found the key in Pritchard's _Ancient Near East Texts_. _Writings of the Ancient World _and Hallo & Younger's _Context of Scripture_ lay open nearby. He'd worked through the list of ingredients that it required, frowning periodically as a word refused to be modernised. It had taken him an hour and a half to discover that the bitterwood required by the spell was actually _Tamarix aphylla_, a well known desert plant, easily available.

"When do you want to leave to get Cas?" Sam asked, glancing at his watch. Dean put down the shotgun and looked at him.

"We're not getting Cas," he said quietly. "We'll see the others tonight, then we'll go to the gate at Sioux Falls."

Sam felt himself turn cold. "Dean, that's a big risk –"

Dean looked at him coldly. "She doesn't have two days, Sam. If he leaves her like that, for that long …" He stopped and swallowed hard, forcing his imaginings away. "We're hitting that gate tonight. We'll take care of Crowley afterwards."

He turned to Bobby. "Are you going to be ready by then?"

Bobby nodded. "Yeah, I think so." He looked down at the list on the table in front of him. "One of you has to go get this stuff. Some of it's easy to find. I think I know where we can get hold of the powdered cat bones. But someone'll have to come along because I haven't figured out how to carry stuff."

"Sam, get whatever you can on the list. I'll go with Bobby." He stood, repacking the clean guns into the canvas bag. "We'll meet you in Rapid City tonight."

Sam picked up his bag and took the list from the table, his eyes running over it. He knew where to get most of this, he thought.

* * *

_**Hell**_

Ellie closed her eyes again as Crowley entered the cavern.

"Get her down."

The brusque command surprised her. She felt the shackles loosened and taken off her ankles, felt herself lifted and the wrist shackles removed. Her arms fell to her sides and she needed every last drop of self-control to stop from screaming as the stretched tendons and muscles were released, the blood flow quickening to the nerves and tissue. She let her head drop down, teeth clenched tightly against the rising agony.

"Lock them up." Crowley walked over to Ellie, taking a handful of her hair and lifting her head to look into her face. "If the Winchesters don't deliver as promised, you'll be back up there, and it won't be for show."

He let go of her hair and she let her head drop again. The demon dragged her behind him as the second one cut Frank loose and shoved him in front. They made slow progress back to the elevator, Ellie tripping and stumbling, twice falling to the ground. The ride up was shorter. They stopped several levels below the upper ones, and were pushed out into a plain, featureless corridor. The demons stopped in front of a barred door, and opened it, and Frank helped Ellie in. The cell was twelve by twelve, an empty square hewn from the stone. As the door was locked again, Ellie slumped to the floor, Frank sitting behind. She listened as the demons footsteps receded down the corridor, then looked up at him.

"How you doing?"

He looked at her in surprise, and shook his head. "That was my question. I thought you were ready to pass out. I'm fine."

She shook her hair back and rolled awkwardly until she could cross her legs, lifting her arms carefully onto her knees. "I'm alright, just habit to convince an enemy that you're in worse shape than you are. My shoulders aren't great, but they'll work with a bit of help."

She started to gently rotate her wrists, flexing her fingers in small increments. Frank watched her.

"I did a shiatsu course three years ago," Frank said diffidently. "I could try and help?"

Ellie looked at him. "That would be great."

Frank moved around to sit behind her, lifting her hair over her shoulder. He started with a very light pressure, probing delicately along the muscles and around the joints, then began to apply the pressure more confidently. Ellie closed her eyes, continuing to flex her fingers carefully as she felt the gentle pressure starting to work.

Frank looked at the rapidly swelling joints and bruising muscles. "This isn't going to help much, you know."

"I know. I just need a little movement."

* * *

_**Gillette, Wyoming**_

Dean slid the pick through the wards, and over the tensioner. He lifted the pins and heard the lock click. The interior of the store was pitch black, and he looked around the doorway for a silent alarm beam, seeing the small grey box screwed to the wall just past the door. He set the mirror in front of it, and pushed the door open, closing it again and leaving the mirror on the floor.

Shelving rose from floor to ceiling in the narrow store room, and the store was filled with an exotic mix of smells from the various products sold there. He pulled out the penlight and flicked it on, shining the narrow beam from box to box, working his way around the shelves.

"Weird, freaking people around," he muttered as the light picked out labels of rhino horn and dried tiger penis, turtle belly and seahorse skin, ginseng, myrrh, goji berry, aconite, powdered centipede … he found the powdered cat bone several shelves along.

Retracing his steps out of the store, he walked back to the car quickly. He felt the temperature drop as Bobby materialised in the back seat.

"Cat bone?" He grimaced in the mirror.

"Half-in, half-out anyway." Bobby shrugged. "Let's get going."


	16. Chapter 16 A Gun For Crowley

**Chapter 16**

* * *

_**Carthage, Missouri - 2009**_

The field was empty, save for the dead who lay scattered across it. Where the land rose slightly, black earth and torn sod were piled beside a deep hole. The moon had long set and the night sky was dark with cloud. Around the field, the stands of trees tossed restlessly, and the wind moaned through their trunks.

It was partly buried in the soft, turned earth, the long barrel hardly visible. He crouched above it, staring down at it. This was a thing that couldn't touch him. But it still had power and there was still a need for it. He picked it up, brushing the dirt from the smooth metal, the wooden grip. It was heavier than he'd thought it would be.

He stood up and smelled the blood and charred flesh on the freshening breeze. It had been a bad place for a long time, and he had no doubt that bad things would continue to happen here. He'd found some places were like that.

The field was empty, save for the dead who lay scattered across it. The boy had gone.

* * *

_**Rapid City, South Dakota**_

Sam looked up as Dean came into the bar. Garth was sitting next to him, Twist and Dwight sat at a table nearby. Marcus had the furthest to come; he'd be there in another hour.

"Any problems?" Dean slid on to the bar stool and looked at the bartender.

"No. Got everything." Sam leaned forward a little. "You?"

"Fine."

Garth grinned at Dean. "Glad you called. We should make this a regular thing."

Sam's expression froze. Dean glanced at him, then looked at Garth. "It's not the Hardy Boys, Garth."

"Yeah. No, I know." He bent over his drink, slurping up the soda through a straw.

"It's going to take us five hours to get to Sioux Falls." Dean took the beer the bartender brought, tipping it up and drinking a mouthful. "It'll take them nearly four to get to Sunrise."

"Yeah, we'll have to leave earlier." Sam glanced at his watch. "Marcus called an hour ago, said he'd be here by ten. Do you want to get it straight with these guys and let them tell him?"

Dean nodded. "I want to get on the road as soon as we can."

They stood up and moved to a larger table near the back of the room. Garth followed them, and Twist and Dwight stood up and moved slowly after them.

When they were all seated, Sam pulled out the laptop and the file he'd collected. He'd been through Bobby's library and his father's journal and had pulled every bit of information on the gates he could find together.

Twist looked at Dean. "Think we can pull this off?"

"I don't know." Dean looked at him steadily. "If the tracks are all intact, and you only have to replace the one section, then yeah."

"Gate can't open, right?" Dwight looked at him. He was in his late forties, not a tall man but broad shouldered and heavily muscled, a long, twisting scar cutting across his face where he'd been nicked by a werewolf in his youth and the wound had become infected.

"Not without the key," Sam said. "And that key's been missing for a long time."

"We'll be in Sioux Falls by three." Dean looked around at them. "Aim to start working on it around three thirty, no later. But you'll need to have everything ready before then, because if Crowley shows up, or sends some of his demons to take a look-see, then you'll have to keep their attention for at least another two hours."

Garth looked at him. "What happens after two hours?"

Dean looked away, and Sam said quietly. "If we haven't done what we have to by then … chances are we've failed."

"Oh."

Silence dropped over the table. Twist tossed back the bourbon in his glass.

"Let's see this map then."

* * *

Dean walked out through the back door at a quarter to ten. The men inside knew what they were doing. And it would draw Crowley's attention, he was certain of that. He walked along the silent alley behind the building, dragging in deep breaths, feeling the muscles of his chest and back relaxing slightly, reluctantly.

He was conscious of time, seconds and minutes ticking away into hours. Ellie had been down there for thirty-four hours. She was resourceful and strong. _She was also three months pregnant_. He stopped and leaned against the brick wall of the back of the building, his mouth suddenly dry, his stomach churning. He felt sweat coating his skin as he tried to shut out the clamouring thoughts and emotions.

"It's Dean, right?"

He looked up, pushing himself off the wall. A tall, skinny boy stood a few feet away, dressed in a t-shirt, board shorts and sneakers. Dean looked at him in the dim light of the alley, brows drawn together, his hand feeling for the automatic under his jacket.

"Yeah. Who're you?"

"I'm Jesse."

Dean took a step closer to the kid, looking closely at him. "Jesse … Turner?"

"Yeah, right." He looked around. "Where's your brother?"

Dean glanced back to the rear door of the bar. "He's in there. Man, you grew fast."

The corner of Jesse's mouth lifted slightly. "I'm fourteen. What'd you expect?"

Dean smiled, shaking his head. "I don't know. Not to see you again, I guess."

The smile faded from Jesse's face. "You're angry."

"Yeah." _Understatement but in the ballpark_, he thought.

"And afraid."

Dean looked at him and lifted a shoulder. "Yeah, that too."

Jesse walked up to him, his hand disappearing behind his back. "I found this. I thought I'd better keep it until you needed it."

He drew out a long-barrelled revolver. The light shining from the windows facing onto the alley picked out the engravings on the dark barrel, showed the pentagram crudely carved into the wooden grip. Dean felt his eyebrows rising as he looked down at the Colt.

"Where'd you get this?"

"A field. It was full of dead people. It wasn't a good place." He held it out to Dean. "This can't hurt me. But it will kill the demon you're hunting."

Dean took the Colt, running a hand along the barrel, his thumb finding the catch that released the barrel and cylinder from the grip. There were three bullets in the cylinder. He remembered using one on the hellhound, and one on Lucifer. The empty chamber prevented the gun from firing if it was dropped or knocked.

"You sure about that?" He looked at the boy. "The demon I'm hunting is the King of Hell."

Jesse shrugged. "Not really. He's still just a demon. Not like the other ones."

"What other ones?" Dean heard the click as the barrel snapped into the grip again.

"The … I don't know what they're called. They were there first. Like the devil. They're trapped at the moment, so they can't get free. But they're not demons, not really."

Dean filed away the information for later consideration – and discussion with his brother and Bobby. He looked curiously at Jesse.

"Where have you been?"

"Around." Jesse shrugged. "I was living in Alaska for a while. It was pretty good, had a cabin. But I got lonely. I've been down in Baja for the last few months. Surf's pretty good."

"That explains the threads." Dean nodded. "Are you okay? Anything been after you?"

"No. I can see stuff like that coming from a long way. I'm okay."

"Not much of a life for a kid."

Jesse tilted his head to one side. "You kidding? It's awesome. You should see my girlfriend."

That surprised a laugh from him. "You're not lonely?"

"Not really. I don't stay around very long. There are a lot of places to go, to see. But it's not hard making friends."

Dean sighed. "Yeah. Just hard losing them."

The boy shrugged again. "I'll see them again." He looked up at Dean. "I decided I didn't want to fight. So I have to keep moving. Sooner or later some demon or angel figures out who I am."

Dean saw his life, fun in some ways, but underneath the same rootless wandering that had tortured him. "I'm glad you figured it out, Jesse."

Jesse nodded. "The devil's back up here, you know."

Dean stiffened slightly.

"Not as powerful as he was. He's living inside something, not a person. But he's going to try to take it all back you know."

Ellie had been right, he thought, looking at Jesse's serious expression.

"That won't help you with him." Jesse looked down at the gun. "But there is something that will."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "You know what that is, Jesse?"

Jesse nodded. "I've got to go. But I'll come back. When you need me. Okay?"

"Come back whenever you want to, Jesse." Dean looked at him. "I'd like to count you as a friend."

A smile flashed across the boy's face. "Yeah, that'd be cool."

Dean felt the soft whisper of air across his face as it rushed to fill the space where Jesse had stood. He looked down at the gun in his hand. _Oh Crowley_, he thought with a deepening trickle of dark satisfaction, _I am so going to kill you_.

* * *

_**I-90 East**_

Sam held the Colt, turning it over his hands. "He just showed up? And gave you this?"

"Yeah." Dean watched the road, the speedometer sitting steadily on eighty. "He looked good, uh, clear, in his head."

Sam shook his head. "I didn't think we'd ever see him again."

Dean glanced at him. "Yeah, me too." He looked back at the road. "He said that there were other things in Hell, that they were like Lucifer, but they're trapped."

"The fallen." Sam put the Colt back on the seat. "When Lucifer rebelled against Heaven, there were quite a few who joined him. The ones who were closest to him were thrown into the Pit along with the boss. Supposed to have been nine of them, all angels, all powerful."

"How the hell did Crowley end up as King of Hell with them around?"

Sam looked at him. "Maybe that's why they're trapped?"

"There's a happy thought."

"It's mostly legend and myth. They were called the Princes of Hell. Not sure how that worked, but it seemed to be outside of the hierarchy of the demons that Lucifer made – like Lilith and Alastair. Azazel was one of the fallen. Maybe that's why his eyes were a different colour to the human-born demons."

The air temperature in the car dropped, their breath changing to a white fog as it came out of their mouths.

"You two really need to spend some time reading up on this stuff," Bobby said with a sniff from the back seat. "The nine were Belial, Pythius, Moloch, Astaroth, Mammon, Belphigor, Baal, Asmodeus and Merihem. Castiel told me that Moloch and Astaroth were killed in the siege that Heaven lay to Hell to get you out, Dean."

Dean felt his fingers tighten involuntarily on the wheel. Raised from Hell. It was a memory he tried not to revisit.

"He didn't know what happened to the others, Michael and Gabriel were in charge of the Host." Bobby screwed up his face, trying to remember. His memories were like a warehouse that was lit by only a few lights. It was all there, but he could only see what was illuminated. The lights kept coming on, but it was a slow process.

"So there are seven fallen angels still rotting in Hell somewhere?" Sam looked over the back of the seat at Bobby.

"Yeah. Worst case scenario." He looked at Dean. "Did the kid tell you how they were trapped? Or why?"

Dean shook his head. "No, I don't think he looked at that too closely. He's got a connection to Hell. He knew about Crowley, knew that the gun would kill him, King of Hell or not, because he was a still a human-born demon." He thought about the conversation. "He's not that interested in them."

"That's good." Sam leaned back against the seat. Jesse Turner. Fourteen now and doing good. He wished he'd been there to see him again.

"Not so much for us," Bobby remarked. "We need all the intel we can get."

* * *

_**Just outside of Sioux Falls, South Dakota**_

The car bounced and jolted up the narrow gravel road, the headlights swinging wildly up and down as Dean negotiated the ruts and holes and washouts. He came to a stop when the road petered out, a narrow dirt track leading on over the ridge.

"Ready?"

"Sure." Sam picked up his bag and slid Ellie's long, slim knife through his belt. Dean had Ruby's knife sheathed behind his right hip, the Colt tucked into his jacket. They got out of the car and walked over the ridge and down into the narrow valley that sat like a three pointed cup between the junction of three hills.

"It was supposed to be against this rock face." Sam found himself whispering. The small valley was still, and completely silent, not so much as a cricket's chirrup disturbing the quiet. He pulled out the pages of Jim's journal that he'd found in Bobby's library, looking from them to the rock wall. "There, where the rock bulges out a little."

Dean walked up the scree to the rock, the flashlight showing only a smooth, seamless wall.

"All right. Let's get started."

* * *

_**Hell. Middle Levels.**_

"Thanks, Frank." Ellie lifted her arms cautiously. They hurt, the muscles and tendons had taken a beating, but they were responsive at least. Her wrists were a mess, several layers of skin had been scraped off and they stung continuously in the open air. But all told, the damage was pretty minor considering that Crowley was really quite a vindictive bastard.

She rolled onto her knee and to her feet, her breath whistling slightly in her throat as her nervous system registered pain. The cell had a single door, opening inward next to the wall. Walking slowly to it, she bent and looked at the large old-fashioned lock in it.

"Well the good news is that we can get out of here."

"And the bad news?" Frank looked up at her, levering himself to his feet.

Ellie smiled and turned her back to him. "I'm going to be unsupported for a while."

* * *

_**Sunrise, Wyoming**_

The four cars that rolled along the dirt road off the 318 drove with their headlights off. The night sky was clear over Wyoming, and the starlight was just sufficient to stay on the lighter-coloured road.

Garth was following Twist. He kept a good way back, wary of the dust and stones thrown up by the pickup's tyres. Behind him, Marcus' Chevy Nova had changed colour from navy to beige.

He felt the tyres lift and fall over the railway lines and breathed a sigh of relief. They were finally here. Twelve lengths of 4 feet 8.5 inch gauge rail lay along Dwight's flatbed, along with several dozen sleepers. Dean had said that the missing track was along the road that ran to the east of the pentagram Colt had built, the locked Gate in the centre. Once the line had been replaced, they would be safer inside the pentagram than anyone outside of it.

He hit the brakes as Twist slowed down in front of him, turning his pickup off to the side of the track, and parked alongside him.

"Can you see it?" He looked at Marcus as he pulled him beside him. The older man shook his head.

Garth pulled his flashlight from the car and walked out behind Dwight's truck. The line was almost buried in sand and scrub and grass, and the missing lengths were obvious, sticking up from the ground, the spikes hadn't given, the rail had been bent upwards.

"Wow." Garth stared at the buckled I-beam of the rail. Dwight stood behind him.

"Yeah."

Twist and Marcus started unloading the sections of rail. "We've got half an hour to get this laid out, so let's move."

* * *

_**Hell. Uppermost Level.**_

Crowley stood in his office, a glass of whiskey in one hand. He didn't expect the Winchesters to just give in and do what they'd been told. His experience of them told him that that they were planning something, he just couldn't see the shape of it.

They'd met up with a bunch of hunters in Rapid City two hours ago. Now they were headed east. He had a limited amount of information because they'd changed cars twice, and the tracking coin he'd hidden in the vehicle in Kalispell was now useless. His lieutenant had managed to secrete a second coin in the next vehicle, that too was sitting behind a railway yard in Sioux Falls and the whereabouts of the boys was currently unknown.

Two demons had followed the rest of the hunters, but had lost them in Colorado somewhere. A demon had been dispatched to watch the interstate into Iowa but hadn't reported back in. His fingers tightened around the glass he held. You just couldn't get good help any more.

He was hoping that Dean would try to welch out of the deal somehow. Killing Ellie Morgan would go a long way to restoring his good humour, the sweetener being the effect on the eldest Winchester.

"Crowley."

He turned to look at the demon at the door. "What?"

"They've picked up the hunters again. Looks like they're heading toward Sunrise."

Crowley's brows drew together. "Are they now?"

"Yessir."

The King of Hell rolled his eyes and gestured impatiently for the demon to leave. What were they planning? An ambush? Some kind of heroics for the swap? He shook his head. Morons. All of them. Waste of his time even trying to do things the right way.

* * *

Dean watched the pale smoke rising from the brass bowls, listened to his brother's voice, unfamiliar as he spoke the words of an ancient and guttural language. He wasn't sure that they'd got it all right, got everything they'd needed to make this work. The rock wall seemed unmoved by Sam's painstaking speech. His stomach was agitating and he wanted a drink. His fingers itched to be locked around the Colt, on the trigger, with Crowley behind the sight. Everything was taking too damned long, and he couldn't think of her, couldn't let those thoughts in.

Then, he heard a grating sound, deep in the lower registers, and he saw a gap widen around a rock that hadn't been separate before. From the cracks, a red light glowed in the darkness, spreading as the gate opened further.

Sam resisted the impulse to look up as he heard the rock moving slowly outwards, grinding the sand and small stones and gravel beneath its weight. He concentrated on the words of the spell, reading until the end. When he finished and looked up, the rock stood to one side of a hole in the hillside, red light pulsing out of it.

He looked at his brother. Dean nodded and they walked toward the gate, ducking under the low entrance and stepping into Hell.


	17. Chapter 17 100 Square Mile Devil's Trap

**Chapter 17**

* * *

_**Hell. Middle Level.**_

Ellie tucked the stiff curved wire into the back pocket of her jeans, and pulled the door open. Behind her, she could hear Frank's breathing, a little quick, a little ragged. She dropped to her knees and eased out the doorway until she could see up the corridor, then turning to look the other way.

"No one here but us chickens," she murmured softly, getting back on her feet and walking out of the cell.

"Which way?" Frank looked down toward the elevator doors. "Are there stairs in this place? I don't feel like getting trapped in that."

Ellie nodded as she pulled the door closed behind them. "Other way. There are staircases all over the place, but I don't know how many of them Crowley reconstructed." She shook her head. "You'd think if he wanted to do the whole corporate thing, he'd have just set up shop in Manhattan."

Frank nodded. "Not like anyone would have noticed."

They turned left and walked up the corridor. After the first straight and even stretch, it began to twist and turn, the smooth walls and floor becoming rough, the corridor itself narrowing and becoming smaller.

"Looks like the renovations only extend so far," Frank commented, bending a little as the roof got lower. He felt the tail of his shirt catch on something and yanked it hard. There was a tearing sound as the material gave way and he was free. A new shirt was a cheap price to pay for getting out alive. Although, he amended quickly, there was no guarantee of that yet.

The corridor began to climb, the increment very gradual. Frank flinched away from the walls, now gleaming with an oily residue, and covered here and there by mosses and lichens that glowed with a faint phosphorescence. Ellie looked at them as they passed.

"Don't touch those," she warned him, unnecessarily. Frank had no intention of letting any part of him come close to the inhabitants of the tunnel. He wondered briefly how badly his trailer had been trashed.

Ellie stopped. Ahead of them, somewhere, they could hear shouting and the sound of running feet. She drew back to one side of the tunnel, but the sound began to fade, moving away from them.

Frank let out the breath he'd been holding. "Someone's been stirring the hornet's nest."

She nodded, her heart lifting as she thought of who might be doing that, and started forward again, picking her way over the rocky floor that was only just visible in the faint light from the walls.

* * *

_**Hell. Middle Levels.**_

The tunnel into the hillside wound down, the steeper sections cut into steps. The scent of sulphur grew as they walked deeper, the pulsing red light brightening in some parts of the tunnel, then dimming to darkness in others. Periodically they passed doors, closed and tightly fitted, to the left hand side of the staircase. Dean ignored them, following the stairs.

"Do you know where you're going?" Sam said quietly as he followed Dean down, bending awkwardly to avoid braining himself on the low roof.

"No." Dean looked down the twisting tunnel that ran on ahead of them. "Didn't get a guided tour when I was down here." He looked back at Sam. "I'm not even sure how this place works. It's real – I mean we're here, in the flesh, but I think it looks different if you don't have a body." He frowned, trying to retrieve some of the memories of his time here, memories he'd spent years burying.

"For souls, there aren't any …" He gestured to the tunnel around them, the stairs they were descending, "physical ways of getting around – no tunnels, no steps, no roads. But there were a couple of times when I saw Alastair in a meat suit down here … and then there would be passages or stairs, lying over the top of what I could see." He shook his head, it was too hard to explain.

Sam nodded. "Maybe it exists on a couple of different planes?"

His brother shrugged. "Doesn't matter. In the mirror, Ellie was somewhere big. I got the feeling that she was somewhere deep." He waved at the tunnel, leading them down. "When we get to the bottom, we'll start looking and we'll work our way back up."

_What if there is no bottom?_ Sam thought uneasily, but he didn't say it aloud.

* * *

_**Hell. Uppermost Level.**_

_Unbelievable_. Crowley looked into the bronze cup, his brows rising in outrage at the images that formed on the slick surface of the blood that filled it. The nerve of them! He turned to the lieutenant standing on the other side of the desk.

"Get every mothering demon you can find. Use the Bear River gate in Utah, it's the closest." He looked back into the cup. "Stop them before they close that line. Kill them and leave the bodies in pieces."

The lieutenant nodded once and left the office. Crowley rubbed his temples, his rage at the blatancy of the action growing exponentially. He should have killed those two when he'd had the chance, taken whatever Castiel had been prepared to hand out. The angel wouldn't have killed him outright, no matter what he'd said. He'd been completely committed to the opening of Purgatory. If he'd just done it when he had the chance, he wouldn't be facing this utter cluster-fuck right now!

His hand shook as he poured the Craig into a glass. He was King of Hell for fuck's sake! He'd fought and schemed and planned for this bloody job, he'd found spells to bind the princes, he'd killed every other contender out of hand, and no one, least of all the fucking denim-clad nightmares, was going to stuff it up for him now.

He resisted the impulse to toss the whiskey down like a common shot. It was the finest whiskey on the face of the planet and it deserved to be savoured. He took a deep breath, then another. What he did want to do, however, was to vent a little of the rage on some well-earned revenge.

The demon appeared in the doorway at his thought.

"Get the woman," he said to it.

A scene from a film popped into his head and he smiled slowly at the thought of replicating it for Dean Winchester. Not just the head, of course, but all the other bits and pieces as well. It was crass and over the top, but he would savour the expressions on Dean's face.

* * *

_**Sunrise, Wyoming**_

Dwight looked up at the sky, his nerve endings prickling. "I think they're coming. How're we doing?"

Garth and Twist swung the long-handled spike mauls, slamming the spikes through the rails and into the hardwood sleepers, their steady rhythm counting off the seconds like the tick of a clock. Marcus looked over to him, aligning the last stretch of rail to match up with those in place.

"Almost done. One more to fix in."

Dwight picked up the spike maul and walked over to him, bending to take a spike from the pile next to the line. "Let's get it fixed then, because I think we're out of time."

He set the spike into the slot and swung the tool, the reverberation travelling up through the wooden handle, through his hands and up his arms as he hit the head of the spike and it sank an inch into the sleeper beneath. Marcus grabbed his maul and set in the next spike, swinging the heavy tool around and over his head, his eyes fixed on the head of the spike in front of him.

Along the western edge of the sky, the stars were being covered, blotted out, as a huge, fast-moving black cloud raced toward them.

* * *

_**Hell. Upper Levels.**_

The staircase was narrow, steep and winding. It was a perfect place for an ambush or a trap, Frank thought, as he climbed after Ellie. His heart was pounding and he was puffing with the effort, but he kept going, forcing the ill-prepared muscles of his legs and back to lift, take his weight, lift again. He was really out of shape, he thought tiredly.

Ellie moved soundlessly over the rock steps, listening as she followed the twisting ascent through the ancient igneous rock. She thought they'd been on middle levels when they'd been taken to the cell. Hell was a difficult place to travel through; it had a habit of changing direction and switching locations around without warning. But they should be getting close to Crowley's modifications. She thought about the closest gate they could use to get out. Probably Sioux Falls, at this end. From the inside, without the items that were necessary to the spell, it would take a blood key to open it. She pushed the thought away. She'd deal with that when they got there.

There hadn't been a sound from above them for quite a while. She hoped that whatever Dean and Sam had thought of, it was enough to clear out the upper levels for a bit. The souls, waiting in endless lines in the torture of boredom and futility, wouldn't be a problem.

"How many times have you been in here?" Frank asked her, pausing between each word to catch his breath. Ellie glanced at him over her shoulder.

"Maybe a dozen times in the last six years." She looked up again. Was that a trace of brighter light ahead?

"Why?"

"The first time I was looking for a way to get Dean out of here." She remembered how'd frantically she'd searched for that way. It hadn't helped, she'd found the answers she needed only after Cas had rescued him.

"Dean was in Hell?" Frank stopped, taking a deep breath. Ellie heard the cessation of his footsteps behind her and turned back to him.

"He made a deal when he was younger."

Frank waited for a moment, but realised that was all the information he was going to get about that event. "Obviously you succeeded."

"I didn't, actually." She turned back to the stairs and started climbing again. "He was raised by someone else. But since I had access, it was a useful place to get information and things that aren't available anywhere else."

"Uh huh. Risky." Frank followed her slowly.

"A little. Sometimes." She grimaced at the memory of the last time she'd been here, hunting for the Summoning spell for Crowley. "But it's a big place, and it's thinly guarded. Very few people break into Hell."

Frank snorted. "True. Most people would try to stay as far away as possible."

The tunnel was definitely getting brighter. She climbed faster, leaving Frank behind. He caught up with her several minutes later, ducking as he saw her crouched behind an outcropping and looking into a wide corridor, the hewn stone of the tunnel merging seamlessly into cream tile and tan vinyl.

"We're on the lowest of the upper levels, I think. About four more to climb and we'll be able to get to a gate," she whispered to him. He nodded, wiping the sweat from his forehead and the back of his neck.

* * *

_**Hell. Lower Levels.**_

Dean looked at the two pillars of stone expressionlessly. Beside him, Sam looked around the cavern, seeing the same details he'd noticed in the mirror. This was definitely where Ellie had been.

His brother walked slowly to the pillars, lifting his hand to touch one of the shackles that hung against its side. The shackle was bronze – because demons couldn't touch iron, Sam thought – and stained a dark brown around the inside. Dean let it drop, the metal clanging softly against the rock. He turned away, taking one deep breath after another.

Sam watched him regain control, and let out his own breath. He touched the hilt of the long knife in his belt lightly. They hadn't seen a demon since they'd walked in, and although that had been the point of the diversion in Wyoming, it was still making him nervous.

He followed Dean over the rising rocky ground and stopped when he saw the two metal doors set into the rock wall ahead of them. He knew what they were. The incongruity of seeing them _here_ though made him wonder if he were seeing things.

Dean looked back at him. "What?"

Sam gestured to the doors. "That's an elevator."

Dean looked back at them and shrugged. "Yeah, do you want to walk back up the stairs?"

"Dean, it's an _elevator_."

"I guess Crowley doesn't like stairs?" He looked at his brother. "Come on."

The doors opened with that quiet swish that elevator doors do so well. The metal box was empty and they stepped inside it warily. To the right of the doors, set into the wall, was a panel with dozens of buttons. Dean looked at them. They were numbered and he pressed one about halfway up. The button lit up and the doors whooshed shut. There was the familiar jerk of the cable tightening above them and then they were rising.

Sam shook his head.

* * *

_**Hell. Uppermost Level.**_

"WHAT!" Crowley screamed at the cup of blood furiously. The blood bubbled quietly. He threw his glass against the opposite wall, and strode around the desk, his face red.

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU MORONS?"

The walls trembled, the pictures rattling against them. He paced in front of the desk, his thoughts rocketing as he tried to figure out a way to fix the latest disaster. Devil's Gate shut off – again – after all the trouble Azazel had taken to get it open. He leaned against the edge of the desk, fuming. Alive or dead, human or demon, no matter what century it was or which side of the world, if you wanted something to be done right, you had to do it yourself.

He straightened up. "Just keep them there."

The demon who appeared at the door of the office cringed back as Crowley whipped around, his eyes pitch black.

"WHAT?" The King of Hell screamed at him. The demon backed away, shaking his head. There were times when you could tell Crowley bad news, and there were times when it was wiser just to wait.

Crowley scowled and vanished, the air sighing as it filled the place he'd been.

The demon looked around the empty corridor. There were maybe a dozen of them left in the upper levels, he'd have to find them and start searching. Bad enough that the prisoners had escaped but if they were still missing when Crowley returned, there would be hell to pay.

* * *

_**Sunrise, Wyoming**_

Behind the demon cloud, thunderheads were building over the mountains to the west. Dwight looked at them, seeing the ominous flickers of light deep within the cloudheads. Garth, Marcus and Twist watched the demon smoke as it flattened against the unbroken iron line, as if it was a glass wall, writhing and twisting away to search for another way in.

"There's a church about a mile away," Marcus looked at the others, "we should get in there, going to be raining cats and dogs soon."

They got into their vehicles and drove slowly toward the old wooden church, a small and very simple building that had nevertheless lasted over a century very well. Parking with the noses of their vehicles facing outward, the men retreated inside, carrying flashlights and camping stoves, water and blankets. It was going to be an interesting couple of hours.

Garth couldn't believe he was in the middle of a demon siege. He'd been hunting long enough, and with enough success that he thought of himself as a pretty seasoned hunter. But amidst these men, and watching the immense power of the demons that surrounded them, he was starting to feel like a raw beginner.

Twist pulled out an aerosol can of spray paint, and began to paint a devil's trap over the threshold of the church doors. Marcus set up two of the camp stoves, and soon had a pot of coffee brewing. Dwight moved steadily around the perimeter of the one-room building, looking for any weaknesses that might become a problem if the storm got really big. No point to being killed by a falling church when they'd managed to escape the demon attack, he thought.

As the storm got closer, the rumbling of thunder shook the timbers of the church, vibrating in Garth's fillings. He walked closer to the window, looking at the lightning as it struck the earth again and again. The charge in the clouds above them was enormous and he wondered if the church's steeple was actually grounded. He was turning away to ask Dwight if he thought it was, when he caught the movement of the demon cloud in the corner of his eye. He turned back, watching the smoke part and swirl up along the barrier of the lines, the gyrations slowing and finally stilling completely.

Lightning hit the ground between the church and the line, and Garth saw a figure standing on the other side of the iron rail.

"Uh … guys. I think we've got company."

They walked over to him, looking out. Crowley stood there, watching them.

* * *

_**Hell. Middle Levels.**_

Dean and Sam walked down another long tile and vinyl corridor. Sam was beginning to wonder if they would still be trailing up and down these damned corridors when Judgement Day arrived – again.

Dean frowned as the corridor began to change ahead of them, the tiled walls and vinyl floor melting into a rocky tunnel. He lifted his flashlight and shone it down the narrowing space. He got the impression that it was rising slightly, then his attention sharpened as the beam of light reflected on a scrap of white, several yards deeper.

Sam followed him as he hurried into the tunnel. The white was a scrap of cloth, caught on the edge of a sharp rock and torn. Someone had come this way in a hurry, he thought, feeling hope flicker and rise a little. Sam looked over his shoulder.

"You think that Ellie's?"

"How many prisoners do we think Crowley's holding down here?" He looked down at the cloth. "Who are capable of getting free?"

Sam nodded, looking unhappily at the low roof. "Let's do it."

They walked along the tunnel fast, both ducking their heads as it became smaller. Sam looked at the mosses growing on the gleaming walls. Nothing in here looked normal – or healthy – and he instinctively drew back from them as they started to climb the stairs.

* * *

_**Hell. Upper Levels.**_

Ellie passed Frank one of the curved steel wires from her bra. "It's not much, but it is steel," she said quietly, "They'll feel it."

He nodded, tucking it against his palm and closing his fist around it, so that it protruded a couple of inches out from his knuckles. It was inconspicuous. If he didn't just get thrown against a wall or ripped to shreds, he thought he'd probably be able to do some damage with it. Perhaps take an eye out, at least. The thought brought a pleasurable feeling of anticipation. He might not have worked in the field for a while, but he'd had enough of being dragged around, tied up and beaten up. It was time for a little payback.

The stone stairs had ended at one end of a long, wide hallway. Toward the other end, a line of people were shuffling along slowly, moving under a suspended lit sign that showed a very long number. Crowley's queue, Ellie had called it derisively. Opposite where they were crouched there was a short, narrow hall, ending in a heavy door.

Two demons were standing in the corridor, between the queue and the door. They weren't actively looking for anything; Ellie guessed they'd been posted there to keep an eye on things only. She watched them, chewing her lip as she thought about the possible ways that she and Frank could take them, armed only with the thin steel wire. She couldn't see their arms, didn't know if they were marked with the sigil that the others had been. _Was Crowley paranoid enough about his rule in the underworld to bind every demon serving him?_ She didn't think so. Demons on foot were a lot slower than demons who could smoke in and out of meat suits. He probably only used the sigils for those who served him personally.

"Nooooooooo! I've been to the back of the line FOUR THOUSAND FUCKING TIMES!"

The howl came from the far end of the corridor, and Ellie's mouth tucked in at the corners as she glanced back at Frank. She looked back to see the two demons sauntering down the corridor, away from the little hallway, heading to sort out the commotion that had erupted.

"That's our cue." Frank stood up as Ellie moved quickly across the corridor to the hallway. He looked right, seeing that the demons were involved now with the crowd of souls down at the end, and hurried after her, hunching down in the corner behind her as she looked at the lock on the door. She held out her hand for the wire and he gave it to her, shifting around and lying down on the uneven stone to watch the corridor.

* * *

_**Hell. Upper Levels.**_

"All right, we've searched all of the middle section. They must have made it further up. We'll split up. You six take the elevator and start from the top, working your way down. We'll take the stairs and work our way up. There's only two of them, and they're both pretty harmless. They are not to be killed. Lucky has plans for them and the demon who fucks that up will be spending the rest of eternity as a toothpick for the Princes, got it?"

The demons nodded and peeled away, six heading for the elevator, the others crowding into the narrow rock staircase at the opposite end of the corridor.

* * *

_**Sunrise, Wyoming**_

Crowley stood by the iron railway tracks, staring at the church less than four hundred yards away. The hunters were in there, four of them according to his lieutenant. He looked down at the lines again. A double line of iron, intact and unbroken around the entire perimeter. He didn't think he could break through it. He didn't want to try and fail in front of the horde that hovered, waiting, along this side of the pentagram.

He didn't have enough power from the souls in Hell. It had been an unforeseen side effect of changing the place to run more efficiently that the frustration and anger of waiting endlessly in lines was not a sufficient goad to either twist the soul into a demon, nor to release the power of the soul that torture and agony and anguish invariably did. He sighed. A good idea at the time, but he was going to have to return to the labour intensive torture regime if he wanted to have enough juice to further his plans.

He could feel the power of the iron even from where he stood. It was a strange metal, and it had a strange effect on creatures that were not a part of the natural laws of creation. He'd heard once, from the very old demons at the bottom of the Abyss, that it had once been called the blood metal. He wasn't sure if that was fact, or the results of living too long on a diet of pain and darkness, but he could feel its resistance to him, to the demons that waited around him.

He thought of another solution. Not an elegant one. Not a clever one. But it would work.

"Stay here. We'll starve them out."

The tendril of charcoal smoke that was his lieutenant swirled up and around him.

He looked at the church thoughtfully. He couldn't penetrate the iron barrier to see inside it. He hoped the Winchesters were in there but he couldn't be sure. They'd gone in the opposite direction when they'd left Rapid City. He shrugged. It didn't matter, either way. If they tried to move Castiel, he'd have them. If they were in here, they'd be dead in a month. One way or the other, he'd be rid of them.

The air closed together with a sigh as he vanished.

* * *

Marcus leaned on the window sill, staring through the binoculars as the man vanished.

"Well, now that's interesting."

"What's interesting?" Twist looked up from the gun he was cleaning.

"That fella, Crowley, he just disappeared." Marcus turned to the others, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Guess the lines were too strong for him."

"Good. It was getting on my nerves, wondering about that." Dwight poured a cup of coffee from the pot. "Anyone bring any cards?"

Garth looked at his watch. An hour and forty minutes had passed since Dean and Sam had entered Hell. He hoped that they'd found what they were looking for, because he thought Crowley was headed back there.


	18. Chapter 18 The Blood Key

**Chapter 18**

* * *

_**Hell. Sioux Falls Gate.**_

Frank looked down the corridor at floor level. The two demon guards were still at the other end, although from the increased noise levels down there it sounded like the problem was getting worse, not better.

Ellie used one of the wires as a torque wrench for the lock, applying pressure to the plate, and feeling her way through the pins with the other. The lock was stiff and heavy and she was working cautiously, unwilling to lose her tools by going too fast and bending them.

There were a number of much louder shouts from the end of the corridor, and Frank narrowed his eyes, trying to see what was going on. There seemed to be a lot more demons down there, and many more of the souls were getting involved in complaining about the line, the waiting. He saw two demons suddenly run into the crowd, and heard a scream, high pitched and wavering. The next minute, the demons were hacking and slashing at the souls and moving up the line, toward them.

Frank slid the couple of inches backward until he was covered by the edge of the rock wall again.

"Ellie, I think we're in trouble."

Ellie frowned, gentling the pick through the last couple of pins. "What kind of trouble?"

"There are at least six more demons down there, and the crowd is starting to riot." He pushed his glasses back up his nose. "I'd say the demons are getting fed up, because they've started hacking at the souls. They're moving up the line, heading this way."

"I need another minute." She caught her lower lip between her teeth, bending closer to the lock, shutting out the distractions around her forcefully.

"Not sure we have a minute." He got to his knees. A scraping noise made him turn his head suddenly toward the staircase on the other side of the corridor. He looked into the surprised face of a demon as it came around the last bend of the stairs.

"Oh crap."

* * *

Sam looked up suddenly. "Did you hear that?"

Dean nodded, and started to take the stairs two and three at a time. The high-pitched scream from above them had been distant, but not that distant. Sam ran after his brother, longer legs stretching out, hampered by the need to run doubled-over. His hand gripped the knife hilt tightly.

* * *

Ellie lifted the last pin and heard the lock click as she saw Frank go down in her peripheral vision. She yanked the wire from the lock, spinning around and back against the wall as the demon behind her brought his club down on the point of her shoulder. The blow to the already agonised joint sent fresh shrieks of pain through her nerves and she clamped her teeth together, shunting the pain away as she slashed across the demon's throat with the curved wire. It leapt back in surprise, hands going to the gash as blood began to pump from the severed artery.

She looked down and saw Frank being dragged out of the narrow hall, back into the larger corridor, a demon on either side of him. She took a step toward him as another demon reached for her, its eyes the flat black of a shark's, lips drawn back in a chilling smile. The wire flashed out again and it stumbled into the demon behind it, staring in disbelief at the long split in its hand where the wire had severed the tendons and separated the bones.

"Oh, for Lucifer's sake!" Another demon, taller, older-looking, stepped forward, shoving the two wounded aside and raised its hands. Ellie felt herself lifted and slammed against the wall beside the door, held by her throat and arms, unable to move.

"What's wrong with you? You're demons! Try to act like it!" It turned away from her and lifted Frank to the ceiling above the corridor, pinning him there like a bug on display.

It was just turning back to Ellie when it stopped, arms dropping to its sides. Ellie looked at the protrusion that had appeared at the side of its throat, saw the boiling red-gold light fill the body and explode from the eyes. For a second, she couldn't take her eyes off the hilt of the knife that was embedded there. Then she was dropped, the invisible hands that had held her against the wall disappearing. She landed on the floor on her hands and knees and looked up, seeing Dean and Sam at the top of the staircase on the other side of the corridor.

Dean stepped forward into the corridor to yank Ruby's knife free from the demon, and shoved another demon away from him as Frank fell onto it from the ceiling. He ducked as he turned, stepping into the demon that had swung at him, driving the knife deep into the chest, the vivid coruscating light reflecting on his skin. He pushed the body off the knife, swinging it wide to cut the throat of the demon next to him, still holding his torn-apart hand, then plunged the blade into the chest of a demon who blundered against him, whose blood sprayed out from between his fingers from the arterial wound to his throat.

He felt his foot sliding on the blood-slicked floor and braced himself against the wall, his head turning to look into the narrow hallway. His eyes met Ellie's and he stumbled to her, lifting her up.

Sam swung the long bladed knife fast, the razor edge parting skin and cartilage and severing the tendon on the side of the neck. The demon went down, the body lit up from within. He stepped forward close to another demon, feeling the blade push through, flexing as it hit bone then sliding around it, piercing the heart that lay beneath. He yanked it out, and dropped, catching sight of the demon behind him as it swung a long blade at his head. He drove the point of the knife into the side of its knee, pulling it out as the demon fell to the floor and driving it into the side of its chest.

Ellie hadn't realised what she looked like until she saw the expression on Dean's face. He lifted her back against the wall by the door, his gaze moving from her face to her shoulders and arms, the bloody mess of her wrists, down her body, returning to her eyes. She smiled, lifting her hand to his cheek.

"It looks worse than it is."

His face twisted and he looked over his shoulder at his brother. "I hope so, 'cause it looks bad." He dragged in a deep breath. "Stay here, I've got to –"

"I know. Go." She eased herself back to the floor, settling so that the wall was firm against her back.

He turned, the knife lifting as he strode toward a demon. Frank crawled out of the fighting and into the hallway, nodding slightly as he saw Ellie.

"They have good timing," he grunted as he turned to sit next to her, his hand lifting to touch the rapidly swelling laceration on his forehead. He winced as his fingers found it.

"Yeah, they do." Ellie turned her head to look at him. "Any dizziness?"

He shook his head. "No, lost my wind, got a bump, that's all."

She turned and pushed the door to her right. It opened slowly. Beyond it lay another staircase, hewn from the rock, lit by a pulsing red light.

"That's the way out," she said softly. They got to their feet, using the wall behind them to help themselves upright. Ellie gestured to Frank to go through, and turned, walking to the junction of the hall and corridor.

Dean and Sam stood back to back, the two knives coated in red. Around them lay the bodies of numerous demons, and three others were circling them, extremely wary of the weapons the men carried and used to such deadly effect.

Dean feinted to the left, lunging at one demon. The second demon, to his right, fell for the trick, stepping in close, his own long knife swinging. Ruby's serrated knife blade caught its blade and Dean twisted it sharply, turning, the demon losing the knife as it was yanked from its grip, and fell to the floor with a ringing clatter. It disappeared in a bright show of red-gold light when the serrated knife blade found its target, and the body collapsed at the man's feet. Sam had driven the third demon against the wall, the knife in his hand embedded to the hilt through the demon's abdomen, the light show outlining the tall man's feature in gold. He pulled back, pivoting smoothly on one foot, his brother driving the last demon back to him, and his blade entered the demon's back as Dean thrust his knife through the chest.

The once-orderly queue was a shambles, the damned souls milling and running this way and that at the other end of the corridor. Dean glanced down there and turned back to the narrow hallway, seeing Ellie waiting for them at the entrance. He wiped at the blood he could feel spattered along his face and neck, as he and Sam hurried back to it, following Ellie down to the door.

* * *

_**Sunrise, Wyoming**_

Marcus threw down his cards in disgust. Another bunch of twos and threes. They were only playing for matchsticks, but it was the principle of the thing. He looked at his watch and frowned.

"Garth, those demons still out there?"

Garth looked around. "Yeah, they haven't moved."

Marcus got up slowly, feeling his joints creak with the static and moisture in the air. The storm had been pounding them for two hours now, and the Winchesters were overdue.

He walked to the window and stood next to Garth, staring out into the wild night. "How much food we got, Twist?"

"Enough for a week or so, ten days if we're careful." Twist looked up. "Why?"

"I think the hellspawn is settling in. King of Hell couldn't break the trap so he's decided to siege us."

"Well, they can try." Dwight shifted a handful of matchsticks to the pile. "See your ten and raise you twenty."

"We gotta a ten stick limit here, Dwight!" Twist looked down aggrievedly.

"Yeah." Marcus looked back out to the smoky cloud that drifted along the perimeter of the trap.

"Can they starve us out?" Garth looked from Twist to Marcus.

Marcus shook his head. "Not likely. Hellspawn have a limited attention span. We'll be alright."

* * *

_**Hell. Uppermost Level.**_

Crowley stood in his office, chewing on the edge of a fingernail. He probably should have tried to break the trap, he thought pensively. It didn't do for a demon in his position to show any signs of weakness. Ah well, couldn't be helped now. And by the time the hunters were taken care of, he thought the demons would have forgotten anyway. They had the attention span of goldfish.

He walked to the sideboard and lifted the stopper of the crystal decanter there, pouring an inch of whiskey into a clean glass. He'd swallowed almost half of it before he remembered his instructions to one of his lackeys about Ellie Morgan. They should have been carried out, whether he was there or not. He put the glass down on the table and walked out of the office.

* * *

_**Hell. Sioux Falls Gate.**_

"It's okay, I can walk," Ellie said to Dean as they stood on the other side of the now-closed door. He nodded and turned with her, walking close beside her. They climbed the last flight of stairs and came to a blank wall.

Sam stopped, looking at the wall. "But we opened it, it should be standing open."

Ellie shook her head. "Not if you used the Akkadian spell from my place. It has a limited time window, sort of a dead man's switch. After an hour it closes and seals the gate to prevent demons from getting out."

Dean exhaled. "Mmm … Bobby didn't mention that."

She snorted. "It's not in the spell. I found out about it from experience."

"Yeah, about that, Ellie, when were you going to tell me about this?" He looked at her. She widened her eyes at him slightly, her mouth twisting ruefully.

"When we get out and we're somewhere safe-ish."

"How do we open it?" Sam turned to her.

"Did you bring the ingredients with you?" She knew he had not, it wouldn't have occurred to him anymore than it occurred to her the first time she'd used the spell without knowing about the time limit.

He shook his head. "Everything's out there."

"Then we'll have to use a blood key." She sighed, knowing that Dean wasn't going to like it.

"Okay, I'll bite. What's a blood key?" He looked at her, feeling his heart sinking as he saw her expression. Whatever it was, he realised, he wasn't going to like it.

"Gates can be opened with blood." She walked to the rock wall, running her palm lightly over the surface. "From the outside, you need a lot of blood, several hundred people sacrificed at least. But from the inside, a couple of quarts will do."

"Okay."

She looked at him. "It has to be from a single blood source – just one of us."

He slid the knife into the sheath and took off his jacket, starting to roll up his sleeve. She walked to him and stopped him.

"Don't argue with me about this, okay?" She took a breath, looking around. "Sam, you and Dean are our best protection. You're not injured, you know how to fight demons, you've got the knives, you're the strongest." She looked at Frank. "You have hypotension, Frank, so you're out anyway. Losing two quarts would kill you immediately."

"No. You've lost blood already, any more and you could die." Dean stared at her, stepped close to her, his voice low. "Ellie, the baby …"

She looked at him, her eyes widening slightly. "You knew?"

He nodded, his throat closing up. He had to make her understand that she couldn't do this. "Please, don't."

"Listen to me." She looked up into his eyes, resting her hands against his arms, waiting for him to get control of the emotions she could see in his face.

"I'll be fine, Dean. We'll both be fine. If we're attacked on the outside, I can't fight as well as you can," she glanced at Sam, "either of you. My shoulders are a wreck right now."

He wanted to argue, and she curled her fingers around his arms. "Two quarts is okay, unless you have to fight. I'll live." She looked at the door behind them. "But if we don't get out of here as soon as we can it's all going to be wasted, because Crowley will find us. And he'll kill us all."

Sam dragged in a deep breath and looked his brother unhappily. "I agree with her, Dean."

Dean didn't look at him, his gaze was fixed on Ellie's face. The side of it was swollen and bruised, dried blood crusted over a cut on her brow, and another on her cheek. Cuts patterned her arms and chest, stomach and legs, some long and shallow, others deeper amid larger bruises that shone black and blue from her ribs to her knees, clearly visible beneath the tattered shreds of her shirt and jeans. She couldn't ask him to agree to this.

"It'll be okay, Dean. It will," she said quietly, stepping closer to him, leaning against him, feeling the deep shudder that ran through him. "But we have to do it now."

He closed his eyes and pulled the knife from its sheath, his chest tightening as he handed it to her. She walked to the edge of the rock wall and knelt next to it.

"Uh, you know how much two quarts looks like?"

Frank walked over to her, crouching beside her. "I do."

"The gate should start to open when it's got enough." She looked at him. "You can wrap the wound then, but not before, all right?"

Frank nodded, swallowing. Dean walked up behind him, looking down at her, his face hard with tension. She gave him a half-smile and closed her eyes, setting the edge of the knife along the length of the radial artery, above the mess of raw flesh around the wrist bone. She drew the blade back sharply and the artery opened, bright red blood pumping steadily and spilling onto the ground beside her, soaking into the base of the rock. He noticed a fine white line along her other forearm, from wrist to elbow, the old scar of the same kind of cut.

* * *

_**Hell. Upper levels.**_

The elevator doors opened onto the Queue Floor. Crowley stepped out and looked around in disbelief. More than thirty souls lay on the floor around the counter, bleeding and torn to shreds. They'd be restored in twelve hours time but that wasn't the fucking point. The rest of the line huddled back against the wall, unmoving. He looked up the corridor and saw bodies scattered across the width of the corridor.

He strode up to them and recognised them, the demons he'd left to oversee the running of the place. In the centre of the corridor, the demon who was supposed to have gotten Ellie Morgan from her cell and brought her to the office lay dead, the large ragged wound in its neck telling Crowley exactly what had happened here.

_A diversion. Wyoming had been a diversion._

Those goddamned Winchesters had been in here, actually in _here_ to get her. He looked at the blood sprays and slicks that coated the walls and floor of the corridor, following two pairs of red boot prints to the narrow hallway that led to the Sioux Falls gate.

He stared at the door for a moment as the pieces fell into place in his mind. The Winchesters had never left Sioux Falls. They'd come from the railway yard to the gate and had entered Hell, no doubt using the same spell as the bitch had found.

He could feel himself trembling, the muscles of his vessel shaking with the rage that consumed him. How long? How long ago had they left?

He spun around and dipped his fingers deeply into the neck wound of the demon lying behind him. The blood was cool, but not cold. No more than forty minutes, at most. He almost leapt across the hallway to the door, his palm slamming into it above the lock, the door swinging violently open. He raced up the stairs, taking them three at a time, barely remembering to slow before the final landing.

* * *

_**Hell. Sioux Falls gate.**_

Ellie leaned against the rock face. Her vision was starting to grey out around the edges and she felt lightheaded, her thoughts drifting more and more slowly. She realised gradually that she couldn't move, her heart rate had dropped as shock set in, and the blood her heart was pumping was being kept in her body's core. The grating and grinding of the rock as it moved outward barely penetrated and she felt herself falling sideways as the gate opened.

Frank had already ripped the sleeves from his shirt, and as the gate opened he caught her and pressed the edges of the cut tightly together, wrapping the padded cloth around her arm and holding it hard against her skin. Dean dropped to his side, taking the second sleeve and winding it around the length of her forearm, binding it tightly and tying off the ends. He slid his arms beneath her shoulders and knees, lifting her and carrying her out through the gate, almost running for the dirt trail that would lead to the car, still parked, he hoped, on the other side of the ridge.

Sam helped Frank to his feet, and they ducked out through the low entrance, stopping to pick up Sam's bag. Sam shook his head as Frank looked questioningly at the bowls slightly smouldering in the circle drawn in the grey dirt. They followed Dean up the trail.

Dean almost sobbed as he realised he couldn't get to the car keys with her in his arms. He laid her gently on the ground next to the car and yanked them out of his pocket, twisting the key in the lock and pulling the door open. Sam and Frank appeared above the ridge as he opened the rear door, pulling out the woollen blanket that lay folded on the back seat, shaking it out and wrapping it around her. He looked up as Sam crouched opposite him, sliding his hands beneath Ellie's body and locking them around his brother's wrists. They'd started to lift together when Sam was suddenly thrown backwards through the air.

Dean turned, seeing Crowley standing a few yards away, and he lowered Ellie to the ground again. He straightened up, turning casually so that his right arm was out of sight.

"Crowley."

"Dean."

"You really shouldn't have taken her." His fingers curled around the grip of the Colt, against the small of his back, drawing it slowly upward to clear the belt.

"Oh yes?" Crowley took a step closer, his face twisting as his rage rose. "Quite apart from the fact that the little bitch has been in and out of Hell more times than I can count, I was absolutely _relishing_ the idea of seeing your face when I delivered her back to you in pieces."

Dean looked at him, his face expressionless. The barrel was almost clear.

"Nothing to say to that? No witless comeback? No snarling threats?" Crowley shook his head. "It's all a bit of a moot point now, since I will certainly be getting rid of you and the Jolly Green straight after I finish her off."

"No. You won't." Dean felt the sight tug at his belt and twisted the gun slightly to free it. "You're going to die, Crowley."

"Really?" Crowley took another step closer, his gaze dropping to the still figure on the ground. "Looks like I don't even need to kill her. Talked you into letting her be the blood key, did she? I'd say she's already dead."

The long barrel of the gun cleared the belt and Dean swung it around and out in front of him, the sight lining up exactly with the point between Crowley's widening eyes. He squeezed the trigger smoothly in the same motion, and saw the flash from the end of the muzzle, his ears registering the loud crack a fraction of a second later. He watched the way the blue lightning played around the small black hole, spreading, and becoming a mixture of blue and red, gold and black as the magic of Colt's bullets burned through the life force of the demon from the inside out.

Crowley fell to the ground a moment later. Dean let the gun fall to the ground, turning and dropping beside Ellie, his fear that Crowley had been right making his heart boom in his ears, blurring his vision.

He closed his eyes, his fingertips light against the artery in her neck, waiting. For a long moment, he couldn't feel anything and inside he started to crumble, pain flowering through his organs and tissue and bones. Then he felt a single slow beat against the pads of his fingers and he rocked back onto his heels, his mouth opening to drag in the cold night air, his heart thundering against the walls of his chest, sight and sound and smell and taste and touch returning as he shook free of the clammy shock.

He twisted around, picking up the Colt and tossing it onto the floor of the car, catching sight of Frank leaning against the panel of the car.

"Go find Sam, make sure he's okay!" The words came out as a staccato order, not loudly, but fiercely.

Frank nodded and walked fast down the hill, looking for the younger Winchester in the tangle of scrub and grass and rock that lay along the sides of the dirt road.

The interior light shone down on Ellie's face as Dean carefully lifted her into the back seat, easing himself past her and drawing her up so that he could hold her. The bloodied cuts and dark bruising stood out with painful clarity against the chalky white of her skin, stretched tightly over the bones as if the flesh had already gone. He drew the edges of the blanket more closely around her, cradling her between his chest and arms, trying to keep her warm, trying to beat the shock that could kill her as easily as the blood loss.

Frank found Sam twenty yards away, leaning on his elbow as he looked blearily around. He extended a hand and Sam took it, rolling onto his knees as he was pulled up.

"What happened?"

"Crowley's dead. Dean's got Ellie. Let's go," Frank said shortly as he turned to climb back up to the car.

Sam followed, his head clearing as he walked. He remembered trying to lift Ellie into the car, his hands locked around Dean's wrists. That was about it. He hurried as he saw the car, interior light still on, on the top of the rise.

Frank was getting into the passenger seat, and Sam shut the rear door, catching a glimpse of Dean's face before the light went out. The sight was enough to clear his head completely and he felt his breath catch in his throat as he slid into the driver's seat and turned the key. The engine coughed into life, and he swung the wheel, gravel and dust spitting out from the tyres as the car turned and sped down the road.


	19. Chapter 19 Four Little Words

**Chapter 19**

* * *

_**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**_

Dean sat slumped in the chair beside the hospital bed, his head resting on his arms, Ellie's hand tucked under his cheek. Around the bed a number of monitors registered her vital signs, their soft whirring and beeping noises soothing in the otherwise silent room. Beside the bed, a bag of whole blood was steadily dripping into her vein.

The attending doctor had run a variety of tests and was checking on Ellie every forty-five minutes. He'd been blunt about her injuries and about the chances for recovery. If her body couldn't cope, it would abort the foetus within the next twenty-four hours. If that didn't happen, then her chances of recovery were good. The thickening of the uterine wall had helped with the shock of the blood loss, and kept the baby safe from the trauma she'd endured. The catalogue of injuries had been extensive, but the doctor confirmed what Ellie had told him, none of them, except the blood loss, had been life-threatening.

There was nothing to do but wait.

* * *

_**Sunrise, Wyoming.**_

"They're going." Garth leaned close to the window when the rain stopped, seeing the cloud of dark smoke rise suddenly into the air, split into a hundred different streamers and rejoin, abandoning the trap and the hunters inside it, and disappearing to the east.

"Good. Forgot to bring whiskey." Twist yawned. Garth turned to look at him, mouth dropping open.

Dwight laughed at his expression. "If they're leaving, son, means that Dean and Sam must have gotten Crowley. They're heading back to Hell to find out who the new boss is."

Garth nodded uncertainly, looking from Dwight to Twist. "Who is the new boss?"

The men glanced at each other, then Twist shrugged. "No idea."

"We'll find out sooner or later," Dwight said sourly. "I'm going to get some sleep. We can pack up and take off in the morning."

* * *

_**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**_

Sam sat in the waiting area, half-asleep in an armchair. His thoughts were drifting as exhaustion ground the energy from his body. Crowley was dead. Did that mean that the demons who'd suddenly reappeared in their lives would return to Hell, or become free of their bonds to the King of Hell and run amok? Was Cas safe now? What about Meg? And what about Lucifer? Jesse had said that the angel was looking to regain his power, looking for a way to restart the end of the world.

He shifted in the chair, his head falling to one side, sleep taking him softly.

* * *

Frank slept in a bed in an empty room. His blood pressure had plummeted when they'd arrived at the hospital. He'd been bustled on a gurney to get cleaned up and given the medications he'd been without for weeks. The doctors were happy with him, BP had stabilised and his heart was strong. Aside from a few scrapes and bruises, and the swelling around his jaw, he was in good health. He dreamed of his trailer, of sitting in the almost-darkness watching the screens that surrounded him, the door bursting inward, thick charcoal smoke coiling through the tiny space.

* * *

_Dean jerked to wakefulness, his hand tightening around Ellie's as he stared at the monitors above the bed. Something was wrong. He turned his head slowly, his gaze travelling the length of her body under the plain white woven blanket and stopping as he saw a hint of dark red seeping slowly through the fibres. He looked up at the heart monitor, seeing the number falling, his eyes flicking back to the stain which was expanding rapidly, the blood pressure monitor beeping insistently as those numbers also fell. He struggled to his feet and lifted the covers, his heart racing and then faltering as he saw the blood pooled along the length of the mattress, flowing out from her, dripping from the edges of the bed to the clean white vinyl floor beneath._

"_Someone help! Help!" He looked wildly around the silent room, the still dark corridor beyond the glass walls and doors. "HELP ME!"_

Dean jerked to wakefulness, his heart hammering frantically, his chest aching, and his gaze went straight to the end of the bed. The covers were smooth, white and unmarked. He snapped around to look at the monitors above her – heartbeat was regular, sixty five beats per minute and strong, her BP was steady at a hundred and seventeen over seventy eight. Leaning his forehead against his hand, he could feel the sweat that coated it and closed his eyes, waiting for his heart settle, his breathing to slow.

He raised his head to look at her, the blood and grime gone now, the chalk white replaced with faint colour as the blood in her body was replenished. Along the side of her face from temple to jaw, the flesh was still swollen and the bruises were now all black fading to blue at the edges. Beneath the hospital gown, he knew the deeper cuts and gouges had been stitched up, dressed. Her wrists were bandaged, the raw lacerations from the roughly cast shackles had been cleaned and wrapped in soft gauze dressings.

He turned as the nurse came in, nodding as she smiled at him. She checked the monitors above the bed then folded the covers down Ellie's body to her hips, lifting the gown and smoothing gel over her belly. This was the second ultrasound they'd done, and Dean watched the scanner slide over the skin, the images appearing in the monitor. He couldn't make out anything, but the nurse nodded encouragingly, wiping the scanner and then the skin clean of the gel and packing the equipment away again.

"The baby's fine," she said quietly to him, marking the test on the chart and leaving.

He rubbed his face with the heel of his hand, the sore grittiness of his eyes exacerbated by the dryness of the hospital air. Ellie's fingers twitched against his and he turned his head, watching her eyelids fluttering as she came out of unconsciousness. He leaned forward, her hand held between both of his.

Ellie struggled up through weariness and pain to consciousness, hearing the soft noises of the machines around, feeling the warmth of hands around her own, smelling the particular scent, of leather and sweat, edged with the faintest whiff of gun oil and whiskey that she associated with him alone. She pressed her fingers against his, and saw glimpses of his face, against the stark white of the room as she forced her lids to rise.

"Hey." Green eyes looked at her, soft with emotion, fringed by thick dark lashes. She felt pain as her lips curved slightly, stopping the wider smile she wanted to give him.

"H..h…" Her throat was dry, and the sound couldn't make it all the way out. Dean stood, releasing her hand reluctantly as he took a step to the nightstand and poured a small cup of water for her, holding it and guiding the narrow straw to her lips. She sipped at it, the tepid water replenishing the moisture in her mouth, in her throat, washing away the unspeakable tastes that coated her tongue.

"Hey." Her voice was just a whisper, but at least it was working now. "Told you I'd live."

He looked at her, and slowly shook his head, his own voice cracking. "No more solo stuff, Ellie." He cleared his throat, breathing deeply to loosen his chest. "From now on, you are not allowed out of my sight."

"Promise or threat?"

"Both." He picked up her hand, holding it between his own. "I mean it."

The smile curved her lips again, rising higher on the uninjured side, lighting up her eyes and he felt her fingertips press gently against his. "No more solo stuff."

* * *

Sam swallowed the last of the coffee from his cup and looked at Dean. Something had changed in his brother, and he couldn't get a fix on it. Dean leaned back in the chair, sipping the hot coffee, looking out the cafeteria windows at the parking lot beyond, his face relaxed and contemplative. He felt Sam's eyes on him and turned his head, mouth lifting at one corner as he took in the wrinkled brow, the concern in the hazel eyes.

"What?"

"You." Sam leaned on the table. "I thought you'd be pacing around, worrying and trying to figure out the next move, but you're just sitting there, looking like …" Words failed him and he shook his head.

"What should I be worried about, Sam?"

"Ellie. How to keep her safe. Being a dad. I don't know – I'm not used to seeing you not worried." _Except when you're drunk … or in despair_, he thought belatedly.

"There's no way I can 'keep' her safe." Dean stretched out his legs under the table. "We'll have to figure out how to keep each other safe. And … I don't know, I'm not that worried about the rest."

"See, now that's not like you." Sam looked at him, a thought occurring to him. "Are you giving up? You two going to settle down and … get out of the life?"

Dean's mouth twisted. "You think that's possible? That we'll be allowed to?" He shook his head. "No, I'm not retiring, and I don't think Ellie is either. There are still plenty of monsters out there; we've still got work to do."

Sam rested his chin on his hand, staring at his brother's face, and the answer came to him in the guise of a memory. _Contentment_. He'd felt it as well, living with Jess in their apartment in Palo Alto, the utter contentment of feeling that he belonged, that they belonged together, that any problem was solvable with her next to him. That's what he could see in Dean's eyes, that certainty that whatever happened, he knew where he belonged now. He knew what was important now. His priorities had all been straightened out and rearranged, and his doubts had been banished.

Sam leaned back slowly. "So …what's next?"

Dean saw that Sam's brow had cleared, the confusion was gone from his eyes. He smiled, a wide smile that came easily to him now.

"No idea. Whitefish for the moment, but we need somewhere safer than the cabin." And bigger, he thought absently.

Sam nodded. "What about Frank?"

"Yeah, we'd better help him get setup again as well. If he insists on another trailer, we'll just cover the damned whole thing with traps and wards." He finished his coffee, setting the cup on the table.

* * *

_**Whitefish, Montana - 4 weeks later**_

Ellie stood up, stretching out her shoulders and back. The swelling was gone, most of the bruising as well. She could still feel twinges in both sockets, but nothing that she had to worry about, nothing that wouldn't heal with time, get better when she started training again. Glancing down at the laptop on the table, she considered the idea that had come to her about a new safe-house.

Dean walked up behind her, his arms slipping beneath hers, his hands sliding over the shallow curve of her belly, resting there protectively. He kissed the side of her neck and felt the tremor pass through her at the same time as it passed through him.

"Find anything?"

"A few places." She nodded. "Nothing that stands out."

Sam walked into the cabin holding a couple of cardboard cartons. "Where do you want these?"

They looked over at him. "In the bedroom, please, Sam," Ellie said.

She turned her head as Sam walked past, the muscles of his arms bulging through the thin t-shirt he'd stripped down to, looking at Dean's profile from the corner of her eye.

"Shouldn't you be helping with that?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I should," he said, making no attempt to move away.

She laughed. "Go and help your brother. The others will be here soon."

He sighed against her neck and straightened up, letting go of her slowly. "What about the rest of the stuff at the house?"

She shrugged. "It'll have to stay there until we can find something else. There's no room here and I don't want to drag it all to a storage unit and then drag it all back out in a month or two."

Sam came down the stairs and Dean followed him outside to the pickup. They picked up another couple of boxes each, sliding them off the tray awkwardly. Every box was filled with either books or computer equipment. Every one felt as if it had been filled with rocks. Sam turned and started to walk back into the cabin. Dean shifted the boxes against his chest, and felt the sharp press of something in his jacket against his breastbone, something small and hard. He frowned, and lifted the boxes a little higher, carrying them inside and up the stairs.

He lowered the boxes onto the pile that lined one wall of the attic bedroom, and opened his jacket, putting his hand into the inside upper pocket, his fingers closing around a small square box. Pulling it out, he looked at it, memory returning immediately. How he'd managed to forget about it for the last five weeks, he couldn't figure. He opened it and looked down at the small object inside, his heart beating a little faster as he considered what it meant.

* * *

Dean looked at Sam's face, noticing the tension in the muscles around his mouth. His brother was doing his best not to burst out laughing. He looked back at the long trailer, taking up most of the gravelled turnaround in front of the cabin, tilting his head to one side. It was a 1966 Airstream Ambassador, the polished stainless steel exterior sparkling in the bright sunshine, the curving roof bristling with antennae and dishes. He kind of liked it himself.

Frank opened the door and gestured for them to go inside. Sam's laughter disappeared as he looked around the cramped interior. The original spacious layout had been stripped out and every available space had been fitted with shelving. The shelves were packed with electronic equipment, monitoring equipment, computer drives, storage disks, spools of wire, drawers of components, tools, surveillance equipment and a number of things he couldn't even identify. At one end of the trailer a small, efficient kitchenette had been installed. Opposite the single counter, a narrow bunk bed took up the lower half of the wall, with pinboards covering the walls above. Frank looked around, grinning.

"You gotta see the office." He walked to the other end of the trailer, Dean and Sam trailing him single file, both men walking slightly crabwise to avoid knocking against the shelves. The curving front end had been fitted with a u-shaped desk, and eight monitors followed the curve, with keyboards and wireless mice neatly arrayed in front of them.

"What do you think?" Frank looked from Dean to Sam. "Those bastards can't keep me down."

Dean looked at the screens, at the slim CPUs stacked under them, and shook his head. "Looks like you're ready for bear, Frank."

"Leviathan. And demons. And anything else we need information on." He tapped a keyboard and images flickered on the screens. "I'll let you know when I'm ready to start again."

Sam and Dean looked at each other. "Sounds good, Frank." Dean nodded in agreement.

"Where are you going to base yourself, Frank?" Sam looked back down the length of the trailer.

Frank looked at him patiently. "No base. Not any more. This baby's mobile and we are going to be _mobile_." He glanced to the front, where the Chevy 2500 pickup sat hitched. "I don't ever plan on staying in one place more than a night."

Sam licked his lips, raising a brow at his brother. "Alrighty then."

* * *

The cabin was noisy, half a dozen conversations going on at once. Dean looked around the table, at the men who sat there, arguing, laughing, talking seriously about some creature or other. He felt a small hand slip beneath his and looked at Ellie, sitting next to him. Lacing his fingers through hers, he bent his head to press her knuckles against his lips.

"Not the Brady Bunch, is it?" She looked around the table, then back to him. He snorted at the images that conjured in his imagination.

"They're family though," she added softly. He looked around again, silently agreeing. Frank was arguing with Dwight over some conspiracy theory or other; Garth and Marcus and Twist were competing to see who knew the dirtiest joke, he could tell from the punch lines that drifted up the table. Sam and Levi were earnestly discussing the latest information on Roman's doings.

He looked back at her, his fingers tightening around hers gently. "Doesn't feel like a boys' club to you?"

"Yeah, of course it does." She laughed, shrugging. "We'll find more hunters."

He nodded. Yeah, they would. He thought of all the people from his past, all the people he'd loved and lost to this life, and he was able to think of them without pain, without guilt or shame. One time, Ellie had told him that their deaths had not been on him, that they'd made their choices and paid the price willingly. He believed it now. He wouldn't give up this life, even knowing the dangers, knowing the risks to her and to the child that they would have, to himself. Everything in life contained risk, to one degree or the other. You couldn't safeguard anyone against it, or you ran the risk of not living at all, living without purpose. He would do his utmost to minimise those risks, but what they did was important and he couldn't pass off that responsibility for the hollow promise of a safety that didn't exist.

* * *

Ellie yawned, ducking her head. She looked around the cabin. It was reasonably clean and tidy again. Dean and Sam were looking at Sam's laptop, watching for demon signs. They'd looked earlier, seeing that the huge gatherings around Memphis and Rochester had disappeared. Everyone called home, she thought with a feeling of misgiving. At least that meant that Cas was a little more safe now.

"I'm going to bed, you guys," she said, half turning for the stairs. "I'll see you later."

Dean walked over to her, his arm wrapping her shoulder. "Not so fast." He kissed her. "I'll be up soon."

She nodded and started to climb the stairs.

Dean watched her go up as Sam closed the laptop, getting up and stretching.

"I could sleep for a week," he said, tilting his head to either side to ease the tension in his neck.

"Sam."

Sam looked at his brother, his brow wrinkling suddenly as he saw Dean's expression.

"What's wrong?"

Dean laughed nervously. "Nothing's _wrong_. I just … need your … uh, help with something."

"Okay." His brow lifted as he waited. "What?"

He looked down at the small box Dean extended to him, held on the palm of his hand.

"Uh … open it." Dean stood beside him. "Do you think … well, I mean, if you were Ellie, do you think … that … uh … you'd like it?"

Sam opened the box, looking down at the slender ring inside. He looked at Dean, torn between wanting to laugh at the incongruous look of anxious hope that filled his brother's face; and wanting to hug him until his ribs cracked. He looked down at the ring again. He remembered the one he'd almost bought for Jess. The memory no longer stabbed him but it still brought sorrow. This one was gold, the slender band had a delicate filigree setting at the top, holding a marquise cut emerald within the elegant curls.

He looked back at Dean's face, his mouth curving into a broad smile. "Yeah, bro, if I were Ellie, I'd love this."

Dean ducked his head, his breath gusting out as he nodded. "Okay then. Good."

Sam grinned at him. "Who the hell _are_ you? And what have you done with my brother?"

Dean looked at him, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Bitch."

"Jerk."

* * *

Dean opened the door to the bedroom and walked in. He could see her shape, under the covers, and she turned over as he came up beside the bed.

"Hey," her voice was soft and slightly husky. It sent a shiver along his nerves.

"Hey." He pulled off his boots and clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor by the bed, and drew the box from his jacket, putting it onto the nightstand. He pulled back the covers and slid into the bed beside her. Her hand crept over his stomach, curving around his ribs, the gentle touch inflaming his skin. If he waited any longer, he thought, he wouldn't be able to string two words together.

"Ellie …"

"Mmmm?"

"I … uh … wanted to ask you something." He reached for the box, and switched on the lamp. She blinked slowly in the soft light, looking up at him.

"Sure."

Here it was. And his throat had closed up. He looked down at her, his lips parted, his fingers clenched around the little square box, unable to say another word.

Ellie felt the tension radiating from him, and lifted herself higher, leaning on one elbow, the drowsiness vanishing as she looked into his eyes.

"What? What's wrong?"

He gave a strangled laugh. _Why did everyone always ask him that?_

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong. I … uh …" He looked down at the box in his hand. _Come on, get it out, nothing could be worse than this long drawn out fumbling around_.

"Will you …uh, would you … marry me?" The breath he'd been holding unconsciously in his lungs for the whole time came out in a rush on the last word. He looked down as he prised the box open, taking out the ring and holding it up.

Ellie looked from his face to the ring, sparkling in the lamp light, and back to his face. He didn't know what he'd expected her reaction to be, but the careful look she gave him wasn't it.

"You sure?" She looked down at the ring again, and he heard the thickening in her voice. He wriggled down a little, putting his hand under her chin and lifting her face to his. He saw the brightness of her eyes, the faint redness creeping up her throat, Ellie's tells when she was about to cry.

"Oh yeah. I'm sure." He felt himself relax finally and leaned toward her, his lips brushing against hers. "Completely sure."

"Then, uh ... yes."

He took her hand and slid the ring over her finger, marvelling privately that it fit. He hadn't thought of sizes at all, just the way it had looked, the way it would look on her. His fingers threaded through with hers as she moved closer to him, and he looked into her eyes as their lips met again, the kiss more urgent this time, intensifying immediately. The groan was deep in his throat as her skin brushed over his, her thigh sliding over his leg.

"Is this okay … I mean, can we do this? Now?" He looked down at her stomach meaningfully. Her answering laugh was low and throaty.

"Oh yeah, we've got months." She caught his hand, lifting it to cup her breast, and kissed him again, and he rolled toward her, holding himself over her, desire washing achingly through him, filling him as she pulled him down.

* * *

_**Hell. The Frozen Wastes.**_

In the depths of Hell, across a burning lake and a wide, dark plain, beyond the barren mountains that divided the lower levels of Hell from the deepest circles, the temperature began to rise.

The ice plains stretched out from horizon to horizon, a wasteland where nothing moved.

Until now.

A group of figures, frozen and bound, trembled and shook as the ice that encased them melted away. Six of them stood there, wrapped in shrouds and cloaks of black, ancient faces hidden by the black shadows of their hoods, skeletal fingers reached out as the spells that had held them were unbound with the death of the spellmaker.


	20. Chapter 20 The Party Never Stops

**Chapter 20**

* * *

"_Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage."_

_~ Lao Tzu_

* * *

_**North Dakota**_

"Didn't we just leave this party?" Sam muttered as he poured a thick line of salt along the window ledge of the motel room.

Ellie smiled slightly as she painted Aramaic traps and sigils over the window glass. Dean kept pouring his own line of salt along the other window ledge.

Outside the motel, in the darkness and under the pools of light spilling from the street lights, men and women were gathering along the street, moving slowly, not speaking to each other, their empty black gazes fixed on Room 19.

"How many now?" Dean dropped the bag of salt and walked to the bed, lifting the canvas bag onto it. He pulled out a box of shells, counting the loose shells in the bottom of the bag.

"Maybe thirty." Ellie looked outside. "More coming."

Sam shook his head. "I can't believe they loved Crowley this much."

Ellie snorted. "They didn't love Crowley. They just hate us."

Dean looked up at her. "Not all of us."

"Think they'll let me go?" Her smile was gently mocking. "If I tell them I'm not with you two?"

He looked away, brows drawing down. He loaded the shotguns and laid them out along the bed.

Sam glanced at him, seeing the tension in the stiffness of his movements. "So, uh, you think Crowley trapped the arch-demons in Hell?"

Ellie shifted her gaze from Dean's brooding face to Sam. "He took the title without any problems, and there were six left, after Cas pulled Dean out. Crowley lived for knowledge, the spells for those traps must have taken centuries to find."

"So when he died … are they free now?"

"I think so. Most spells break when the maker dies." She looked out, at the massing demons in front of the motel. "And he was vindictive enough to use that threat against anyone who opposed him." Putting the paint away, Ellie looked over their defences carefully. They had the knives and the Colt, but with the odds stacked against them so heavily it would be better if none of them got in.

"Most of the demons returned to Hell when you killed him. Obviously, some didn't. But they'll all have to go back if the Princes return. Obedience is almost as universal in Hell as it is in Heaven."

"What happens then?" Sam caught the shotgun his brother threw to him.

Ellie stared outside. "Sam, kill the lights."

She backed away from the window, turning to look at Dean. "You ready?"

"Yeah." He handed her a gun.

The demons rushed at the motel, throwing themselves against the walls and windows, against the door, those closest to the building being crushed by those behind. They were eerily silent, the only noise the thump of flesh and bone against the walls, grunts and gasps as human meatsuits were pushed together and forced down, trampled and squashed.

A crackling sound came from the bathroom and Sam swung around. "That vent was too small!"

Ellie shook her head, crossing to the other side of the bathroom door, and looking at him. "Now."

He opened the door and flattened against the wall as Ellie emptied both barrels into the remains of the possessed human that had been forced through the eight by twelve inch vent, high in the rear wall of the room. The salt and iron pellets drove in deeply at close range, adding to the horror of the cracked skull, flesh peeled away from the bone, the broken collarbones and ribcage from which the arms hung, far longer than normal, skin and muscle hanging off in dangling strips.

Ellie dropped to the floor, catching the bag of salt that Dean threw to her, pouring it along the threshold of the bathroom door as Sam fired over her head, the pump action sending shell after shell into the walking carcass until the demon smoked out and disappeared back through the shattered vent. Sam looked down at the pile of flesh and bone and blood on the floor.

"That was … determined."

The thumping and grunting along the front of the room became frantic, and Dean lifted his sawn-off, his finger against the triggers, brow wrinkling as he watched the hands that scrabbled over the glass of the windows, wondering what the hell was driving them.

Then it stopped.

The crowd of people, many broken, all of them bloodied, fell to the concrete walk outside the room together and the air filled with twisting wraiths of charcoal smoke, ribboning up into the air and disappearing.

"What the -" Sam looked around, walked cautiously to the window and looked down.

Ellie looked at Dean. "Time to go."

He nodded. "What about those people?"

"Some of them will be alive. Call 911." Ellie picked up the guns and shells, salt bags and machetes and began to pack them into the three green canvas duffels that sat on the bed. "Sam, help me pack up, we've got to go."

* * *

_**Whitefish, Montana**_

Dean hunched into his jacket as his breath came out in clouds of white crystals.

"Dammit, Bobby, can't you take the heat from the damned walls or the floor or something?"

"This ain't easy, what I'm doing," Bobby retorted. He was fully manifested, looking as solid as any of them, just muted and paler.

"We got leviathans doing who knows what. We got demons under a new rule in Hell, mostly like the six fallen, the Devil's lieutenants. We got Lucifer, still around, inside of Cas, with a demon nursemaiding him. That about sum it up?"

Ellie carried out two cups of hot black coffee and handed one to Sam, the other to Dean. She retrieved a third one for herself and sat on the couch, near the fire.

"Yeah. Put like that, it doesn't sound so bad." Dean sipped his coffee, hands wrapped around the hot cup.

Bobby ignored that, looking around at them. "What's the priority here?"

"Lucifer," Ellie said quietly. "If he gets out of Cas, if he can somehow rejoin the Princes, it won't matter that he doesn't have his full strength, they have enough power between them to match anything Heaven can bring down." She looked at Bobby. "Michael is trapped in the Pit. Gabriel, Raphael and Uriel are dead. Castiel needs to be freed so that he can rally what force he can while there's still time."

Dean tipped his head back, closing his eyes. "Back to a war on Earth between Heaven and Hell. God, it just doesn't _get_ any better than this."

"How do we get Lucifer out of Cas? Cas doesn't even see us now." Sam looked at her, his brow creased.

"I need to go to Egypt for a few days." Ellie looked down into her cup. "We need help and Penemue is the only one I can think of who's strong enough."

Dean snapped upright. "Go to Egypt on your own, you mean?"

She offered him a wry smile. "Unless you're over the flying phobia? Going by ship would take a little bit too long."

He looked away, his pulse accelerating just at the thought. "How long's the flight?"

"About twelve hours."

He shook his head, grimacing slightly. The flight to Edinburgh had been six hours and he'd been almost comatose for it. He'd have a heart attack or die of liver failure if he had to do double that. Ellie hid her smile, turning back to Sam and Bobby.

"He's a Watcher. He can make the transfer."

"Transfer to who?" Bobby asked sceptically. Sam looked slowly around at them.

"Back to me, I guess."

"No," Dean's voice was hard, unequivocal.

"No," Ellie said at the same time, shaking her head. "The way he is now, he has to go into someone that we can kill, if we must."

Bobby looked at her, his mouth twisting slightly. "Bet the volunteers'll be lining up around the block for that."

She smiled. "I was thinking of Meg."

"Meg'll never go for that." Dean thought of the crafty demon, and her ability to survive … pretty much anything. "She's evil but she's not stupid."

"She will. She loved Lucifer; she would have done anything for him." Ellie rubbed her forehead. "And she's strong enough to accommodate him until we can kill him."

"Uh, if she loves him, will she let us do that?" Sam looked at her doubtfully.

Ellie raised an eyebrow at him. "We might not fill her in on the whole plan."

* * *

An hour later, Dean wandered outside. Under the pickup, two jean-clad legs were sticking out.

"What are you doing?" He crouched beside them.

"Changing the oil," Ellie said, her voice muffled slightly from its proximity to the oil pan. "Should have done it before we went to North Dakota."

Dean sighed. "You know, I could've done it if you'd asked."

She slithered out from under the truck, smiling at him, a smear of black oil across one cheek. "Mmm, just habit."

Lying back down, she adjusted the position of the basin and watched the oil running out for a moment, then rolled out from underneath and accepted his hand as he pulled her to her feet.

He picked up the rag that lay over the open engine bay, and wiped the oil from her face.

"How long is this trip going to take?" He could already feel his stomach getting ready to tie itself into knots until she got back. He still had nightmares about the pillars in the cavern in the depths of Hell, about blood soaking into the base of a wall of rock and how she'd become paler as it had run out of her.

"Um, it's twelve hours to Sharm el-Sheikh, then about three hours to drive up to St Catherine's. If he agrees, then I'll turn around and get the next flight out."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then I'll have to convince him." Ellie looked away. She wasn't in the least bit sure this would work. She just couldn't think of anything else that might.

"How do you convince a fallen angel of anything?" He already had a bad feeling about this, and she hadn't left yet. When she did get on the plane he could look forward to at least two or three days of head pounding, stomach churning worry.

"He doesn't want Lucifer on Earth anymore than we do. I'm hoping our goals will align and that'll be enough," she admitted, then shrugged. "There isn't exactly a buffet of alternative options here."

"No." He thought of something else. "Will the holy fire kill Lucifer? When Meg walks out of the circle?"

"That's what they say. _As long as the oil burns, no angel can pass through it or he dies_. Lucifer's still an angel. We have to believe in something, right?" She stepped close to him, slipping her arms around his waist. "Stop worrying, it'll be fine."

He looked down at her, seeing the faint shadows around her eyes, the thin white scars that surprisingly added beauty to her face, instead of taking it away, the scattering of freckles that covered her nose and cheeks, barely visible in the sunshine, when she was healthy, the dark lashes that framed large eyes, irises jade, flecked with gold.

He couldn't remember a time when the sight of her face hadn't brought a measure of peace and contentment to him, a feeling of hope to his soul. She … exuded … some intangible, indefinable … force … that made things seem not only possible, but likely. It wasn't just him, he'd seen Bobby and Sam affected by the feeling as well, becoming focussed, becoming hopeful about their chances, even when the chances themselves weren't all that great. It wasn't anything she said or did, it wasn't that she had all the answers or knew what to do, it was how she was … indomitable, was maybe the word he was looking for. She would never give in, never give up, and her will to keep going, to keep fighting, was diamond-hard, carrying everything and everyone else along with it. He rarely entertained the possibility of failure when she was standing beside him, it just didn't seem to exist then.

"You look … pensive," she said quietly, searching his eyes.

He shook his head, throwing off the thoughts and introspection. "Just … enjoying the view."

She arched a brow. "You used to be much better at lying on the fly."

He laughed softly. "Not to you."

"Not to me," she agreed.

"When do you want to get going?" He looked at the truck beside them. "Take about two hours for that to drain out fully."

She nodded. "In about three hours. I'll do about six hours tonight and the rest tomorrow."

He looked at her patiently. "_We'll_ go in about three hours."

"You hate airports and you hate goodbyes. Why would you want to come?" She tilted her head slightly as she looked at him.

"Firstly, you are not going anywhere alone while you're still in this country, that was the deal, right? Two, I get to spend an extra twenty four hours with you, and C, I don't hate airports if I don't have to fly and I'll put up with the goodbye thing because of the other two."

"Oh, baby, that's so sweet," she teased, laughing as he made a gagging face, and his hand flashed out to grab her. She shifted backwards, moving at a surprising speed, and wagged her finger at him.

"Come on, lady with a baby here."

"Like that's stopped you from doing anything," he growled and chased her up the stairs and into the house.

* * *

_**Winnett, Montana**_

Ellie pulled the truck into the driveway of the motel and stopped outside the office. Hunched between the door and the back of the seat beside her, Dean was sleeping and she watched him for a moment, enjoying the sight of his complete relaxation. When he was awake, there was almost always some tension in him.

She got out and leaned on the buzzer, going through the door as it opened and getting them a room. Tucking the key into her pocket, she came out and got back into the truck, driving it around the lot and parking in front of the room.

"Dean."

He opened an eye and looked at her. "Not even going to try to carry me in?"

"Nope."

He smiled lazily and straightened up, getting out of the truck. Ellie opened the door and they carried their bags in, dumping them on the floor beside the bed. Without the need for discussion, they took the canisters of salt and poured lines along the window sills, across the threshold and around the vents. The armistice was over, and defensive measures were once again the norm.

A few minutes later, in the warm darkness of the bed, he ran his hand over her hip, and she rolled over, looking up at him. He felt the restless ache of desire amp up as her body slid against his, her lips soft on his mouth. He could feel the steady thump of his heart, reverberating through his bones, pulsing in his blood vessels, a drowning kind of feeling that slowed time, isolating each sensation and intensifying it. Ellie felt it too, hearing the rush of blood through her veins, in her ears, his touch drawing pleasure from her nerves slowly and deeply until she was trembling at each caress, aroused to such a depth she felt helpless. He heard the rasp in her indrawn breath, felt the shivering of her muscles, tasted the sweetness of her skin and every response lit another fire in him, making it hard to breathe. Sight and sound drifted away as taste and touch and smell flooded his mind and need bordered on torment.

She arched under him, and he almost lost it right there, looking at the expression on her face, feeling the libidinal convulsions under his hand. He could hear the harshness of his own breathing, fast and shallow and raw, and his heartbeat pounding like a tribal drum in his chest, then her eyes opened, focussing gradually on him, the pupils huge and dark, and he covered her parted lips with his own, a temblor running through him as he found her heat and pushed into her.

His nerves were screaming at him, but he resisted the impulse to move faster, wanting – needing – to make it last, no matter that it was torturous, perhaps because it was torturous, that moment by moment sensations strung out to the absolute limits of bearability, as she shivered and trembled beneath him, around him. He couldn't tell any more where he ended and she began, her skin welded against his down the lengths of their bodies, her mouth, sweet against his tongue, the pressure and liquid heat of her enclosing him entirely. He found their rhythm, and stroked into it, and they rode it together, letting it increase on its own, nerves and muscle and bone and blood joined on a long crescendo. When he teetered at the peak, for a long light-filled moment, her velvet softness rippled around him and he fell, shuddering in time with her, until the last tremors had bled out of their limbs.

Dean eased himself onto his side, looking down at her face as she rolled up against him, her arm curling around his chest. Her eyes were tightly closed, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, his lips resting against her temple.

He wanted to say something, something that described the feelings that boiled and churned inside of him, but there were no words that could, that even came close. Feeling her arm tighten around him, he thought that probably there had never been words to describe what they felt, a chaotic mixture of love and fear, of passion and longing, of contentment and the yearning to be closer still.

It was something to have, to hold, to feel. Not to talk about.

* * *

The room was dim and cold when Ellie woke. She stretched out, feeling the good aches through her body, the looseness of her muscles, careful not to disturb the man who slept beside her. She drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees, looking down at him for a moment, the memories of the previous night filling her. He looked vulnerable when he slept, younger and innocent. She suddenly found her mind filling with reasons not to go, excuses not to leave, and she pushed them impatiently away, knowing from long experience that not dealing with problems inevitably meant worse problems down the line.

And the problem with Lucifer could get a whole lot worse very quickly if they didn't do something about it now.

Shower. Breakfast. Chicago, she thought, forcing herself off the bed and walking to the bathroom.

* * *

Dean woke to the sound of the shower, rolling over, his arm sliding across the bare sheets beside him, knowing that she wouldn't be there, checking anyway. He twisted onto his back and opened his eyes, the pupils dilating a little as memory returned. He could think of a lot of good reasons to turn around right now, go back to Whitefish, forget about the devil and all the other problems that were plaguing them. He closed his eyes briefly as he realised he wouldn't mention any of them. Problems had a bad habit of worsening when they were ignored, and they didn't need anything to be worse – things were bad enough as they were.

He pushed the memory of last night away reluctantly. He couldn't afford to be distracted and that was a guaranteed distraction. Turning his head as the noise of the shower ceased, he sighed, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Shower, breakfast, Chicago, he thought to himself, not giving mental room to what would come after that – driving back to Whitefish on his own.

* * *

_**O'Hare International Airport, Chicago.**_

"Um, keep an eye on the forum, I'll let you know what's happening through that."

He nodded, looking down at her. "Be careful. I –," he hesitated, looking around the bustle and movement that surrounded them. "I don't … I can't –"

She reached up and kissed him, cutting him off. He bent his head, arms closing around her convulsively, his eyes shut tightly. This was exactly why he didn't like doing the goodbye thing, his imagination filled with all the things that could happen to her, all the things that could go wrong with stupid heavier-than-air machines, all the things that were out there, looking for them, and he didn't want to let her go.

"You be careful too, you and Sam are at the top of everyone's most wanted list." She looked into his eyes, too aware that her heart was racing, her fears for him clamouring to get out of the mental locked box she'd shoved them into.

Turning sharply away, she picked up her bag and walked through the gate quickly, handing over her boarding pass and not looking back.

Dean watched her go, and turned away slowly. Fifteen hundred miles back to Whitefish was too much time to think, too much time to worry. He rubbed the heel of his hand over his face and straightened up, walking faster through the crowds, heading for the parking lot. Just a few days, he thought, just a few days. He felt his chest tighten as memories of the past rose, memories when a few days had turned to weeks, or months. _Cut it out_, he told himself impatiently. _That's not going to happen this time_.


	21. Chapter 21 From Egypt to Afghanistan

**Chapter 21**

* * *

_**Mt Sinai Desert, Egypt**_

Ellie drove through the grey desert as the sun slowly crested the mountains to the east. It had been years since she'd been here, but her memories of the roads were good; her hands automatically turning the wheel as the gravelled turning came up, leading her onto a pitted and rough road that would be far less well-guarded than the highway. There were only a few roads through the desert, all of them were easy to watch. She wasn't sure why she didn't want to go along the main one, but she listened to her instincts and they told her now that it would be safer to go along the bedouin route.

The road wound through the _hammada_, sharp, rocky mountains and gorges, sand spills occasionally visible over the bones of the land, the sun's rising heat bouncing from the stone and collecting in the deep ravines. She drove carefully, coasting down the long inclines to save the engine, avoiding the washouts and potholes where she could. Nothing was easier than breaking down in the desert.

The route looked much as she remembered, and she came out onto the flat reg as expected, winding down the windows to catch the cooler wind from the high gravel plains. Another hour and she'd be at the monastery, and she wondered if she was going to be able to convince Penemue to come back with her, to face the archangel that had started everything.

She hadn't spoken to the Watcher for two years now, the last occasion had been difficult between them, when he'd accused of allowing her feelings to get in the way of what had to be done. She chewed at her lip at the memory. He'd been right, of course, not that that meant she would do it any differently if she had to do it again.

Destiny had been broken now, though. No more rules to follow, no more prophecies to guide them. Just free will and freedom, the ability to act on one's conscience. She wondered if that made a difference to the Watchers, or to those who were fighting them.

"_The factions are getting stronger, Ellie." Penemue looked around them, his eyes narrowed as he pushed her along the market street, his voice low. "Not all of the Nephilim will join with us, some have already gone to the Others. You can reach Michael, through his vessel –"_

"_No." She stopped dead in the street. "I told you, that's out of the question."_

"_He has to know and I cannot reach him myself." The Watcher stopped beside her, his hand on her arm. "This is more important than a single man."_

"_Find another way, Pen, that's not an option." She stared into his eyes, the deep blue of the desert sky._

"_You can't protect him, you know. It will play out as it has been foreseen and he will die."_

_She closed her eyes, and inwardly bared her teeth. He would not die. He would live. She would make certain of that._

"_Find another way." She opened her eyes and shook off his hand. "I'm not giving him to Michael."_

The memory was bitter. She'd found a way to speak to the archangel eventually, to give him Pen's warning, but Michael had dismissed it, ignoring the battle of the fallen on the other side of the world, promising his help only if she would deliver Dean to him.

And now the Watchers were much weaker than they had been. And the factions opposing them were much stronger. Would the Others seek an alliance with the Princes?

The four wheel drive thumped into a wide washout, and she fought with the wheel for a moment, easing off the accelerator and letting the torque pull them out. _Concentrate on what you're doing, for Christ's sake_, she thought angrily, _there'll be time to work out this crap when you know for sure what Pen is going to do_.

* * *

_**Dickinson, North Dakota**_

Dean pulled the phone from his pocket as it started to ring.

"Yeah?"

"Where are you, man?" Sam's voice was tight with tension.

"Just passed Dickinson, I'm about another eight hours out." He shifted his grip on the wheel, tucking the phone tighter to his ear. "What's wrong?"

"Go south. Now. There's some kind of demon convention up ahead of you, in Billings. Omens right across the board."

_Crap_, Dean thought. He could head south at Belfield, but it would take days to skirt Billings widely enough to be sure that he wasn't trapped on the edges.

"Do you know what's going on there?" he asked, running alternative routes and options through his mind.

"No. Just that it's lit up like a Christmas tree."

"I'm going back to Indiana. Meet me at Rochester." There was no point trying to get through, if Ellie was as quick as she'd hoped, he would again be cut off, and he wanted to be near Cas, at least be around.

"You want to see Cas? Now?" Sam's voice rose. "Man, we shouldn't be drawing attention to him."

"Yeah, I know, I don't want to see him, I want to be in the vicinity, just in case." He dragged in a breath. "Just meet me there, bring Bobby with you."

"Alright, it'll be a couple of days."

"Yeah." He closed the phone and watched for the off ramp. What did the demon activity mean? Why Montana? They'd hardly seen any demons in Montana, presumably why Rufus had chosen the damned state for his base.

The off ramp signs appeared and he slowed down, changing lanes and taking it, heading south for the 90. He'd been driving for sixteen hours now, hurrying to get back to the cabin. He didn't think he had much more in him. The next motel, he'd stop, catch some sleep.

* * *

_**St Catherine's Monastery, Egypt**_

Ellie pulled around the dry fountain in the village, and found a parking spot in the shade of a mulberry overhanging the high stone wall. She wiped her hands on her jeans, shaking her head at her nervousness. She had nothing to fear from Pen, he would either help or he wouldn't, but he wouldn't offer harm.

Getting out of the car, she shivered slightly, pulling her jacket on. Despite the heat of the sun and the reflection from the sand and gravel and stone, the altitude kept the air cool. The monastery was held in a cup between the ridges running down from the mountains that surrounded it, over five thousand feet above sea level and even in the depths of summer, it wasn't too hot.

She snagged her bag from the seat and locked the car, turning and walking along the wall that divided the village from the gardens. As she climbed the wide steps that led into the monastery, she looked around, avoiding the tourists who flocked to the monastery at all times of year. When she entered the library, the air cooled further, and she slowed down, wondering where to start looking. Not here, she thought, where there were so many people.

She found him an hour later in a storage room, under the building.

"Eleanor." He didn't turn when she walked into the room, and she stopped, waiting for him to be finished with what he was doing. He put down the book he'd been cleaning and swung around to face her.

The darkly tanned skin was no more lined than it had been the first time she'd met him, almost five years ago. His eyes burned fiercely against the tan, and no smile curved his lips.

"Sit." He gestured to the table beside him, the chairs along its length.

She walked to a chair and sat down, dropping her bag at her feet. He took the chair next to hers and looked at her.

"You're here about the Princes?"

She shook her head. "Only indirectly. I'm here about Lucifer."

He leaned back in the chair, his breath hissing in. "He's trapped. In the Pit."

"No. He – we think, I think – he got out when his vessel's soul was retrieved." She watched his face turn pale under the tan.

"That's impossible," he breathed, shaking his head slightly.

"Yes, maybe. But that's what appears to have happened." She leaned forward, and told him about Sam, the hallucinations, the transfer to Castiel.

When she'd finished he stood abruptly, the tension obvious in his back, in his shoulders. "Why are you here?"

She looked up at him. "Cas can't control him. He can't transfer Lucifer out of himself. You can."

Penemue shook his head. "Transfer him where? Into what?"

"Into a demon."

He swung around to her, his face twisting disparagingly. "You think that's a good idea?"

Her mouth lifted at the corner slightly. "A demon held in a circle of holy fire."

She watched as he absorbed her words, his face becoming thoughtful. "So the demon walks out, and Lucifer either remains or is killed."

"That's the idea, yes."

"It might work." He sank down into the chair again. "Yes. It should work. If the vessel walks, and he chooses to stay in the circle, he'll be drawn straight back to the Pit. If he remains with the vessel, he dies."

"Will you come with me? Castiel is in America, in Indiana."

"We have to get something else first." He glanced at her, seeing wariness in her eyes. "I can't do the transfer without it. I'm not strong enough to withstand Lucifer without it."

Ellie felt her heart sinking. "Can you get it alone, meet me back in the States?"

"No. I can't get it without you at all." He leaned on the table, looking down at her. "What I need is in Father Monserrat's vault."

"Ah." She thought of the Benedictine monastery, high in the mountains of northern Afghanistan, close to the borders of China and Tajikistan. She'd been there for two months in 2007, looking for a way to kill Lilith, to save Dean.

"He has an item, in the catacombs beneath the monastery. I need it." Penemue looked away, rubbing the bridge of his nose lightly. He looked back at her. "He trusts you, I know he does. He'll let you borrow it."

"Pen, you're an angel. He'll trust you too." She tried to argue out of going, seeing her estimate of a few days turning into weeks, seeing Dean's face in her mind.

"No. Not now." He turned away. "The Others have not been idle since the Apocalypse was averted, Ellie. Father Monserrat doesn't trust the Watchers any longer. He has had good reason not to."

Ellie stared at his back, frustration filling her. "It's a four hour flight to Kabul, Pen, I expect you to fill me on this stuff on the way."

He nodded. "Did you drive here?"

"Yeah. We have to get going; I've got a lot of favours to pull in to make this happen quickly." She got up, thinking of times and of distance, of situations and which army was where.

They stood up and looked at each other for a moment, a tacit apology and an acknowledgement of sorts passing silently between them. Pen was still angry with her, she knew, still felt the sting of what he saw as her betrayal of their friendship, but until they'd destroyed Lucifer, or sent him back to the Pit, he would put aside his feelings and work with her, to the utmost of his ability. She turned away and they walked together up from the crypts into the library, and out of the monastery.

* * *

_**Hyatt-Regency, Sharm el-Sheikh, Egypt**_

Ellie looked around the plush suite and sighed. It was extravagant for what would be, at most, an eight-hour stay but it had the facilities she needed. She dropped her bag in the first bedroom, gesturing to Pen to take the second, and tipped the bellboy. Pulling out her laptop, she logged into the lepidopteron forum she'd set up as a communication conduit to Dean and Sam, and sent him a private message, detailing the change in plans. Well not too detailed, she was hoping that he wouldn't know where either Kabul or Qal-eh Wust were, and wouldn't be too worried about it.

She spent the next two hours on the phone, calling in favours and organising the details. Afghanistan was not an easy country to move around in now. A private jet, courtesy of an old friend, would get them to Kabul. From there it was another two hundred miles north and west, through the mountains. Driving was not an option. Although ISAF and the Northern Alliance had held the area for a few years now, even a single small party could capture or kill travellers with little interference. She rested her head on her arms as she thought about who she knew in the area, with the authority and access to help her with what she needed. When the name finally came to her, she smiled, shaking her head that she hadn't thought of him earlier. She picked up the phone and dialled the first of a long line of numbers to reach him.

She was on hold, drawing pictures of angels in fiery battle absently on the notepad in front of her, when the final connection got through.

"James? It's Ellie Morgan." She listened to the man on the other end of the line, trying to separate his words from the persistent crackle.

"It has, we'll have to do something about that," she hesitated. "I need a favour, are your boys still in the north?"

She let out the breath she'd been holding when he answered in the affirmative.

"Yeah. Qal-eh Wust. Just in and out, no more than an hour tops." She chewed on the end of the pen in her hand, taking notes around her doodles as he spoke. "No, nothing like that. Just a visit to an old friend."

"Thanks, we'll see you in Kabul at oh-two hundred. James, thanks, I really owe you one. Yeah, I'm sure."

She hung up the phone and closed her eyes. Well, they had a ride in and out. The whole thing shouldn't take more than a day. She heard the door open to the second bedroom and opened her eyes, looking at Penemue as he emerged. He'd changed from the flowing white robe he habitually wore to jeans, boots, shirt and jacket. She was a little surprised to see that the clothes suited him. He looked like a rock star, hiding out from his fans.

"These are uncomfortable," he told her irritably. The corners of her mouth tucked in.

"You'll get used to them." She picked up the phone again. "We're leaving in two hours, I'm going to order some food – what's your preference?"

* * *

_**Bowman, South Dakota**_

The insistent ringing of the phone prised Dean from sleep. He stuck his arm out of the bed, feeling around on the floor in the heap of clothes he'd left there last night – this morning – until he found his jacket.

"Dean? You all right?" Sam's voice sounded slightly tinny on the phone.

"Yeah, man, you woke me up." He lifted his watch close to his face, squinting at the time. "It's only seven thirty!"

"Sorry." His brother didn't sound all that sorry. "We're going to Indiana through Wyoming and Kansas. I just wanted to let you know."

That really could've waited a few more hours, Dean thought, rolling his eyes. He struggled onto his elbow. "Right. Thanks for sharing."

"There are demon signs all over the place now. Right through Montana. It's not a joke," Sam warned.

"Yeah, alright." He sat up, looking around the cheap room distractedly.

"Have you heard from Ellie?"

"No. She said she'd leave a message on the forum if she had news." He yawned, wondering if he could get back to sleep again. He'd caught four hours, he could use eight.

"Hang on."

He heard the sound of the car slowing and pulling off, rustles and a bang. What the hell was he doing? Distantly he heard the sound of Sam's laptop starting up.

"Uh … yeah, there's a message here," Sam's voice sounded edgy.

"Well, what is it?" He leaned back against the pillow, wondering what was wrong with his brother. As if he needed any more tension in his day.

"Uh … she's flying to Kabul," Sam winced as he scanned the message on the screen.

"Where's that?" It didn't sound Egyptian, he thought. Not that he knew much about Egypt, or anywhere else in the region.

"It's, uh, it's in Afghanistan."

"What?"

"It's the capital of Afghanistan."

"Why, Sam? Why is she going to Afghanistan?"

"Penemue needs something from a place in northern Afghanistan." Sam reread the message again. Ellie had kept strictly to the facts, no why or how was mentioned. He could practically hear his brother's heart rate accelerating over the phone.

"Sam? Read the whole freaking message."

"Uh … Slight change in plans. Penemue needs an object from Qal-eh Wust, northern Afghanistan, for the transfer. Have arranged transport in and out via Kabul. Should only be a day or two at most delay to getting back."

Dean heard the apology in her words but it didn't help. Of course she was going to a country that was at war. _Naturally_. And, as usual, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

"Alright. Thanks."

Sam heard the bitter resignation in Dean's voice. He wasn't sure if there was anything he could say. She had to be flying, or the trip would take weeks rather than days, but he didn't think Dean needed to hear that. He tried to think of where the latest casualties had been in the country, but he couldn't remember that either.

"She'll be alright, Dean."

"Yeah." He shifted restlessly on the bed. "I'll see you later, Sam. Uh, call if there's another message, okay?"

"Yeah, of course."

Dean put the phone back in his jacket pocket and sat on the side of the bed for a moment longer. This was Ellie, he told himself, things like this just happened. She would be all right, she always was, her survival skills were better than anyone else he knew.

None of it reassured him. He got up and went to the bathroom, turning on the water for a shower. He would keep going, get to Rochester, wait there. It was the only thing he could do.

* * *

_**Kabul, Afghanistan**_

Penemue followed Ellie down the narrow laneway, winding through the older neighbourhoods on the steeply rising ground. To his right he looked over the buildings at the snow-capped peaks of the Hindu Kush, which cast a long shadow down the hillside.

"Here." Ellie stopped at the mouth of the lane, drawing back against the wall, her clothing, hair and face hidden beneath a plain black burqa and chadri. There was little point to drawing attention to themselves, if it could be avoided.

The Landrover that drew up next to the mouth of the lane was a military vehicle, the driver's camouflage uniform showing a discreet RAAF patch on one sleeve. Ellie opened the door, using it to hide her as she slipped out of the covering disguise. She wadded up the clothing and shoving it into her bag as she climbed into the LPPV quickly. Penemue scrambled in beside her.

"Nice to see you again, Miss Morgan." The sergeant driving flicked a glance at her.

"Good to see you too, Bob. How's Margaret?" Ellie leaned back and stretched a little, feeling relieved that so far, at least, they were running to the schedule she'd set for them. "Keeping up with Michael?"

"She's got two to keep up with now. We had a little girl last year, Rebecca." Bob's expression didn't change, but his voice was filled with pride. "Reckons she should'na married a soldier, no help with them."

Ellie smiled at him delightedly. "Congratulations! Soldiers make the best dads, even if they can't be there all the time."

He grinned, keeping his eyes on the road. "Major's got a plane waiting for you at the airfield. It'll take you to Fayzabad. Kabul is too far, stretches the Chinook's limits. It's down for an aerial survey of the area, just surveillance. So long as you don't take more than an hour, it'll pick you up and bring you back at oh-eight hundred."

She nodded. "How's the weather?"

"Good at the moment. Thunderstorms in the area, low level warning. No snow forecast until tomorrow."

Ellie recalculated the times. An hour's flight to Fayzabad, half an hour to Qal-eh Wust. She thought they'd just make the return flight booked from Kabul.

* * *

_**St Parisius' Monastery, Qal-eh Wust, Afghanistan.**_

"I am glad to see that no harm came to the monastery or to you, Father, in the last few years of fighting." Ellie looked around the old building. The monastery had been built into a rock face, and the caves that honeycombed the walls provided additional accommodation and storage for the monks. It looked much the same as when she'd visited last. Then she'd come alone, by horse and foot over the passes to the north, trying to avoid the fighting that had been rife through the mountains.

"We were too far north, too hard to get to, I think. And we are Benedictine, neither Buddhist nor Islam, minding our own business yet in the international eye. Of course, a couple of times it was touch and go. But the catacombs are vast." The monk turned to Penemue. "But we have not been out of reach of all our enemies."

Penemue looked at Father Monserrat apologetically. "We are not all evil, Father."

The man shook his head and turned away. "I know that. But trust is a commodity more and more difficult to come by these days. You will understand, I think, that I do not invite you inside."

The Watcher inclined his head. He'd told Ellie exactly what he needed. He could preserve the peace by staying outside the walls. Ellie glanced at him and followed Father Monserrat inside.

* * *

"Four years since I've seen you and then you bring a Watcher," he chided her gently.

"I'm sorry, Father but that Watcher is my friend, and of great importance now."

"Always with you, it's of great importance. There is too much drama in your life, Ellie." He turned to look at her. "You look happier though. That is good to see."

She smiled. "I am much happier, Father."

"What is this item that you must have?"

"A collar, uh, a torc really." She flicked a sideways glance at him. "It's gold, Pen says that it opens in a swivelling motion."

He thought for a moment, then nodded. "I know the piece." He looked carefully at her. "And he wants it for?"

She bit her lip. "Do you really want to know?"

"I think I must, if I'm to let it leave here. It's four thousand years old according to the British Museum."

She sighed. "He needs it to effect a transfer of an angel's spirit, from an angel to a demon."

He stopped dead and blinked at her. "What?"

"You asked." She gave him a wry glance and shrugged. "It's a long story, but I believe that Lucifer rode out of the Pit on another soul. He was without a vessel and when the soul was returned to the vessel, he was in there with it. He has little power in his current state, perhaps that's a permanent thing, perhaps not. An angel attempted to heal what he thought was a psychotic break in the vessel; he took Lucifer into himself instead."

Father Monserrat shook his head. "This is – well, it's unbelievable."

Ellie laughed softly. "And you a man of God, Father, I thought you believed in everything."

He smiled ruefully at her, shaking his head. "So Lucifer is back on this plane – in the body of another angel?"

She nodded. "He has control of the angel, Father. We need to get him out, transfer him to a person. Then it will be possible to contain or kill him with holy oil – _Oleum Sanctum Jerusalem_."

"Does that really work?" The monk's curiosity rose. He'd read about it, but he'd never been sure if the stories were true or just the wishful thinking of their very human authors.

"Oh, yes. It will trap an angel – they cannot pass out of the flames, or they die." Ellie thought of Uriel, cursing and threatening her for trapping him in that precise manner.

"Fascinating." Father Monserrat pulled out a ring of keys and opened the heavy wooden door. Steps led down into the darkness. Under the monastery, and leading back into the mountain's core, miles of catacombs riddled the ancient rock. The first monks had hid in them with every invasion, every persecution. Father Monserrat took a lantern from the shelf beside the door and lit the oil. The warm yellow flame brightened and cast its light down the stairs.

"It's in the vaults. Mind your step." He led the way down the roughly hewn stone steps, the light wavering along the walls.

Ellie followed slowly, matching her pace to his, although the seconds were ticking away in her mind, and she was extremely aware that if they were not back in the field in thirty-five minutes, they would be walking back to Kabul. The Chinook's schedule was strict. There was no leeway for hitchhikers at all.

The vaults were in the first level of the catacombs. Ellie followed Father Monserrat through the twisting tunnels and waited as he unlocked the doors. The room they entered was a natural cave, wide rather than tall. The floor had been smoothed out to an even surface and shelving built along the walls. Boxes, chests, drums and barrels, bags and baskets stood on the shelves and around the floor, piled haphazardly one on the other, giving an impression of an Aladdin's cave, full of unknown treasures.

Father Monserrat moved confidently through them, going straight to a small, enamelled chest, tucked among others on a broad shelf. He unlocked it and lifted the shallowly curved lid, holding it out to her. Ellie walked forward, looking in. On a cushion of black velvet, the torc gleamed softly in the lamplight. It was almost circular, tapered toward the small knob that formed the locking mechanism, the entire necklet smooth and unmarked.

She lifted it out of the box cautiously. It was very heavy and the metal had the lustre of pure gold, an almost matt sheen under the soft yellow light of the lantern.

"Do you know why he needs it?" Father Monserrat looked down at it, his voice almost a whisper.

Ellie fought the urge to whisper back, clearing her throat and speaking quietly, "He said he needs it to prevent Lucifer from being able to invade his consciousness, during the transfer."

"Do you believe him?" Father Monserrat's brows rose quizzically.

She looked into the old man's eyes and saw fear. From what Pen had told her of the attacks on the monastery, it was understandable. "Yes, Father, I do. No matter what the Others are planning, Penemue has stood by his vows for three thousand years. I don't think that he will fail them now."

He nodded, turning away and replacing the box on the shelf. He picked up the lamp and led the way out, Ellie following slowly, the torc heavy in her hands. She hoped that Pen's motivations were as he'd said. She couldn't face the thought of betraying the man ahead of her, after all he'd done for her.

As they reached the main floor of the monastery again, he turned to her. "You know of the massacres, in the south?"

She nodded, wrapping the torc in several layers of silk and pushing it to the bottom of her bag.

"I think they've opened a Gate, somewhere south of Kabul. There are demons roaming this land, when there were none before. At least, not for a thousand years." He closed his eyes for a long moment.

"Is the Gate still open?" She looked at him, worry drawing her brows together. Demon incursions, just what the area needed while it was a still a powder keg.

"No, I don't think so. It's just that some of the suicide runs, the attacks … they were too chaotic even for fanatics." He opened his eyes, the deep brown irises shadowed. "But it's been quiet now for some weeks."

"There was a change of rulership in Hell, Father." She settled the bag securely on her shoulder, aware that she had very little time to fill him in. "Crowley was killed. He was holding the Princes with a spell, in the Wastelands, I think. But it's likely they're free now. We'll have to wait and see if they are content to return to the old ways, or if they're going to try and push through here."

Father Monserrat straightened up. "If they align with the Others, with the nephilim who have turned against humankind …"

"Yes. Well, let's get Lucifer sorted out first," she said with a tired smile. "We'll worry about the rest when there's no chance he can regain his power. I'll let you know how we go." She leaned forward, kissing him lightly on both cheeks, then turned away, heading for the door.

"Travel safe, child. God be with you."

Ellie turned as she pulled open the heavy postern door. "And with you, Father."

She went through and pulled it closed behind her, hearing the locks turning and sliding across.

Penemue came out of the shadows along the wall. "Did you get it?"

"Yep." She glanced at her watch. "We've got five minutes to get to the field."

* * *

_**Rochester, Indiana.**_

Dean stretched along the front seat of the car, knees bent sharply and boots resting against the passenger door. He was too tall for these modern pieces of crap, he thought, as the position became untenable within a few minutes. He rolled onto his side, letting his legs hang into the passenger side well. It was a little better.

His phone vibrated against his hip, and he rolled over, freeing the jacket and pulling out the phone.

"Yeah?"

"Got another message from Ellie," Sam said, sounding as loud and clear as if he'd been sitting in the car.

"What is it?" Dean sat up, giving up on the idea of getting comfortable enough to catch some sleep.

"Uh, all okay. Flight EM-112. Chicago ETA 1750. See you soon."

He leaned back against the seat, the tension of the last three days dissolving. This was definitely the last time she was going anywhere without him.

"Where are you, Sam?"

"Springfield, Illinois." Sam inhaled deeply. "I'll be there in about five hours."

Dean looked at his watch. It was nine o'clock in the morning. Sam would be here by two. If he left at two-thirty, he'd easily make Chicago by five-thirty.

"Good. I'm in the woods, on the other side of the river to the hospital. I'll see you around two."

"Yeah."

He closed the phone, replacing it in his pocket. A Watcher, a demon, a possessed angel. He hoped like hell this was all going to work.


	22. Chapter 22 The Watcher

**Chapter 22**

* * *

_**O'Hare International Airport, Chicago.**_

Dean wandered around in the Arrivals area aimlessly. He'd left Sam three hours ago, sitting in the same spot by the river, watching the hospital. Sam had called Meg, advised her that they had a plan to help Cas. As soon as Ellie and her angel friend arrived, they could get back there and get it over with.

He was getting more patient these days, but he didn't have the patience for this. Aside from the Lucifer/Cas problem, there were still the leviathans to worry about, not to mention the new management in Hell. He rubbed a hand tiredly over his jaw, feeling the prick of stubble that he hadn't had the time or inclination to shave when he'd left the last motel, in whatever town he'd been. And he needed to see Ellie, with his own eyes, because there was a part of him that didn't quite believe she was okay until he could do that.

The crackle of the airport public announcement system brought him back to the moment.

"Attention. Flight EM-112 from Delhi has landed at five forty-five. For those meeting passengers from this flight, please proceed to Terminal 6."

_Yeah, yeah_, Dean thought sourly. _Here I am, Terminal 6. Just let 'em off already_.

He walked toward the narrow exit, having to weave in between people now as the area filled with those waiting for the passengers, stopping when those lining the barriers blocked his view. It took another ten minutes before he saw her, and the arrival lounge had a full crowd by then, standing around or milling randomly near the doors. He caught a glimpse of bright copper-red hair, and stepped past several people, his heart lifting. He stopped when he saw the man walking beside her, hand proprietarily on her shoulder. He was tall and lean, deeply tanned, with long black hair heavily threaded with silver, drawn back and bound with a leather clasp. He didn't look like an angel, Dean thought, watching them, more like a rock star.

He watched Ellie moving through the crowd with practised ease, turning to look up at her companion, slowing down so that they walked close together as he bent to say something to her. He saw her face lighting up in a brilliant smile at whatever that was. The sight was … unsettling.

Ellie looked around the lounge, feeling Penemue's nervousness through the hand on her shoulder. Everything here was utterly foreign to him, she knew, the noise and press of people against and around them, the flat, bright lighting and the sterile smells of plastic and vinyl that seemed to fill the huge area. She reached up, taking his hand in hers as she worked her way through the crowd, eyes scanning the multitude of faces for the one she wanted.

She saw him, finally, standing a little way back from the crush of people, his face carefully devoid of any expression, but his gaze moving from her to the man beside her, then dropping to her hand, still holding Pen's. She took a deep breath.

"Hey." She released Penemue's hand as they got close to Dean, and stepped up to him, dropping her bag and sliding her arms around him. For a second, he remained still, then his arms encircled her and he bent his head, kissing her a little more hungrily than she'd expected. She pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes. Some doubt lurked behind them, an uncertainty. His gaze lifted slightly, looking over her head, then came to back to her face, and the doubt was gone.

"Afghanistan, Ellie?" He looked at her. "Really?"

Her lips twisted into a rueful grimace, nose wrinkling. "Not by choice."

She turned around, and looked at Pen. "Dean, this is Penemue. Pen, this is Dean Winchester."

The two men looked at each other and nodded. Penemue glanced at Ellie, then back at Dean. "It's interesting to meet the man who broke the Chains of Destiny."

Dean's eyebrows rose slightly. "Uh, yeah, I had a lot of help with that."

Ellie snorted softly, shaking her head. "Where's the truck? We've been in the air for twenty hours, let's get going."

Dean put his arm around her shoulders, the gesture more than a little possessive, leaving Penemue to trail behind them, as they walked out of the airport to the parking lot.

* * *

_**I-90 Indiana.**_

"Demon signs, all over Montana, Sam said." He kept his eyes on the road, but he was aware of her beside him, aware of the fallen angel pressed against her other side.

Ellie rubbed her fingertips over her eyes. She'd slept for several hours on the plane, but the trip had been … challenging … and she wasn't caught up, fatigue still nagging her. She glanced sideways at Penemue.

"It's very fast for them to begin moving, isn't it?" She thought they'd have a few weeks before the Princes began to do anything that affected this plane.

"Yes." Penemue thought of the Others. If they knew about Crowley's death … The demon's short reign had been common knowledge – to anyone who could hear the voices of Heaven. He realised anew how much they needed Castiel, how vital it was that the angel be freed.

"Are they moving? Or is it something else?" Dean looked at Ellie.

"There's not much else it could be," Ellie sighed. She had hoped there would be more time.

"How much further to Castiel?" Penemue looked over Ellie's head at Dean.

"Just under two hours."

"Pen, you need to tell Dean about the Others. It's going to have an impact on everything."

Dean shot a wary look at the fallen angel. "What others?"

Penemue looked out the window. "You know about the angels who fell? Who chose to live on earth with humankind?"

"A little."

"Not all of them were chosen by God. Not all of them wished to serve humankind. Quite a few of them were … aligned with Lucifer's ideas."

"Yeah, that I've heard." Dean glanced down at Ellie. She was looking straight ahead, through the windshield, her eyes half-closed as if she wasn't listening.

"God sent a flood, to wipe out the fallen, to wipe out mankind save a few. Wickedness had grown upon the land and he was sickened by what he saw had become of his creations." He glanced at Dean. "It was the last time he intervened in the world."

Dean nodded. He'd heard that too.

"Some survived. We were – are – the Watchers, _Irin we-qadishin_, the old texts called us. We tried to guide humanity, tried to teach wisdom and knowledge, to lead your species into being able to progress themselves. But even within the very small numbers we had, there were still some who found humanity unworthy of being saved, unworthy of teaching. They split off, became the Others. They tried to prove their point by meddling with humans, teaching them things that they didn't need to know or were not ready for. Azazel was one."

Dean stiffened at the name. Ellie felt it and rested her cheek against his shoulder. He glanced down and made an attempt to relax.

"The Others were not loyal to Lucifer. So for many thousands of years, they steered clear of the demons and Hell and generally kept their meddling fairly local. When you and your brother brought Lucifer down, many of them realised that the Morning Star had been their one real hope for the paradise on earth that they'd been waiting for."

Dean's mouth twisted. "Lucky for us none of them met up with Raphael."

"Yes, it was," Pen agreed seriously. "If they find out that Lucifer is here, they will try and find him."

"But you think that the, uh, new managers of Hell are also trying to find him?" Dean couldn't bring himself to call them the Princes of Hell. There were now far too many fallen angels around to even call them that.

"Undoubtedly. Between them, their power would be considerable. If the Others find out the Princes have been released, they'll also try to ally themselves with them. I'm not sure that will work, but I have no doubt they'll try."

"Why wouldn't it work?"

"The Princes of Hell fell with Lucifer. They were his personal guard, the angels that were most loyal to him. He tortured them for a thousand years before the first human soul came to him. While they want him back, it won't be to give him the full power he had before. They will try to use him. The Others are worse than traitors to them, they are betrayers. They didn't follow Lucifer, didn't follow Heaven. There's a special place in Hell for those who do that, I believe."

Dean felt an involuntary shiver pass through him. Hell had too many special places. His worst memories were full of them.

"So what we should be doing is bringing all of them together and hoping they'll kill each other and save us the trouble?"

Penemue turned his head and smiled. "There springs the hope of the human soul."

Dean shrugged. "Just a thought."

"What we need to do is get of rid of Lucifer." Penemue's smile faded. "And then we'll need to deal with the Others."

Ellie closed her eyes. Too many factions. Too many variables. It seemed unlikely that any of them would sit still and wait for a tiny group of hunters to come and put an end to them. They would be jockeying for power, for position, for the advantage, and it seemed as if they had already started. She breathed in the comforting scent surrounding her and let go of her thoughts and doubts and fears, drifting into sleep.

* * *

_**Rochester, Indiana.**_

Sam watched the lightning flickering near the horizon. It was the wrong time of year for thunderstorms, he thought uneasily. The air was too cool, too dry. He'd been watching the storm for the last hour, and it seemed to be getting closer, although slowly. He looked at his watch. Eight fifteen. Dean would be here soon.

The temperature in the car dropped and his breath fogged. He turned around to the back seat to see Bobby materialising.

"Demons," Bobby said the word that Sam had been trying to avoid. He nodded unhappily.

"How do they know where Cas is? How'd Crowley know, before?" He scowled at the storm.

"Maybe they can feel Lucifer? Doesn't really matter." Bobby looked across the river, at the dark bulk of the hospital buildings. "We're not going to be able to lock down that place, ya know, it's too damned big."

"Yeah. I know." Sam thought of the interior, of the wards and stairs and corridors. "We can shut off most of the psych ward. I've got salt in the trunk. The doors to the ward are steel."

"We need help, Sam. Call your friends." Bobby vanished.

"Yeah." Sam picked up his phone.

* * *

_**US-31 Indiana**_

Dean watched the clouds moving toward them on his right. Lightning flickered through them. Penemue turned his head to watch them as well.

"We're going to have company."

The Watcher nodded, glancing down at the woman sleeping between them.

"I was quite surprised to hear that you'd survived the Apocalypse," he commented quietly.

Dean glanced at him curiously. "I didn't think it was that important."

"It was prophesised that you would die." The Watcher looked at him. "She was adamant it wouldn't happen."

Dean looked down, then back to the road. "A lot of prophesies were broken that day."

"Yes." He looked at Dean thoughtfully. "But you don't know what she did, do you?"

"What did she do?" Dean looked at the road, his fingers tightening around the wheel. There were a lot of things he didn't know about the woman next to him. Things he'd never thought to ask, things she hadn't volunteered.

"She talked to God." Penemue smiled.

Dean scowled, his gaze flicking to Watcher and back to the road. "Yeah, see I don't know what that means. You mean she prayed? 'Cos I have to tell you, we were all praying at that point."

The Watcher shook his head. "No, I don't mean she prayed."

He turned to look at Dean's profile, noting the tension in the man. "I mean she died. She went into the Light, in order to talk to God. It was a risk. Suicides go to Hell, you know." He looked down at her, remembering the conversation, his fury with her, that she would take such a risk. "I was surprised that God even listened. He hasn't been listening, really, for a long time. I was more surprised that He decided to intervene, both for you and Castiel, and for her. Perhaps He's mellowing."

He leaned back against the passenger door. "It renewed my hope, that she had succeeded like that. That someone could still make Him listen … and act."

Dean couldn't breathe. He looked down at his hands, gripping the wheel so tightly that the bones stood out white under the skin. She died? She fucking well died? He thought of the small vertical scar that lay between her breasts, a knife scar. He forced air into his lungs and let it out again. She couldn't have gone to a goddamned doctor, as he had, someone who could have brought her back if … if …

_There was a flash through the room as the light doubled in power and he stared in disbelief as Ellie was held in the centre of that beam, the colour bleached from her hair, her face, as the light strengthened._

_"I was there, Cas – who can survive an archangel's attack? You couldn't."_

_"I can't explain it, I don't know how it happened, but she is. I spoke to her twenty minutes ago."_

"_Cas, are you God?"_

"_That's a nice compliment. But no. Although, I do believe he brought me back. New and improved."_

The memories flashed through his mind and were gone.

"He's intervened on her behalf more than once," he said shakily. He didn't know what to think, his thoughts and emotions were mixed together, turgid and dark.

Penemue glanced at him when he heard the unsteadiness of Dean's voice. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you."

Dean ignored that. "How do you know? How do you know that's what she did?"

The Watcher looked down at the woman beside him again, his exhale audible. "She told me. She asked me to watch over her body, to burn it if she failed."

That comment went through Dean like a knife and he turned away from it, trying to focus on something else. "This was, uh, in 2010?"

"Yes, in early spring."

When he'd been prepared to hand himself over to Michael, Dean thought bleakly. Well, it certainly explained why she hadn't been around, didn't it? His stomach was twitching, the tension that was knotting his muscles sending spears of pain through his head. He looked at the road, saw the turn off to the bridge just ahead.

_Just breathe, deal with this later, no distractions now, just breathe_, he repeated the instructions to himself as he turned onto the bridge, the truck bouncing slightly over the seams.

He felt Ellie stirring, lifting her head from his shoulder.

"We there?"

He nodded, unable to speak to her. Why hadn't she told him? He knew the answer to that. For Ellie, it was in the past, done, over with. It had worked out and that was all that mattered. She didn't do post-mortems, and unless something amusing had happened on a job, she didn't do walks down memory lane. It was one of the things they had in common.

He saw Sam's car, and pulled in alongside it, forcing himself to breathe steadily, trying to sound as if it were natural.

He opened the door and got out, drawing the cool air deeply into his lungs.

Sam got out and looked at him, brow wrinkling immediately.

"What's wrong?"

Dean shook his head. "Let's get this show on the road."


	23. Chapter 23 A Trap for the Devil

**Chapter 23**

* * *

_**Rochester, Indiana**_

Twist and Dwight sat in the truck in the hospital visitor's car park, arguing over last night's poker game. The game wasn't important, the arguing was a diversion they enjoyed for a few years now.

"I'm just sayin' that we need to be clear on what the hell we're playing before someone wins." Dwight looked at the other man in exasperation.

"Here they are. Save your bellyaching for after." Twist got out of the truck as Sam and Dean parked in the adjacent slots.

"Dean."

"Twist, you know what we need?" He looked over the building's roof as thunder shook the air and the ground, reverberating through their bones.

"Yeah. Sam filled me in."

"I don't know how long this is gonna take, you'll need to be ready."

Twist nodded. "Yeah, we will be." He turned away, nodding to Sam as he passed him and got into Sam's car. Dwight was in his truck. If they needed to get out of there in a hurry, they'd be ready.

Ellie slung her bag over her shoulder and got out of the truck, glancing back at the Watcher as he got out the other side. Sam passed her the bottle of holy oil and she tucked it in the bag. None of them felt like making conversation, each lost in their own thoughts of what they were about to attempt.

They made their way up the steps and into the building as the wind whipped around the parking lot and the thunder spoke again.

* * *

"Meg, you ready?" Dean looked at her, and she nodded. She was ready, she was so ready she could hardly believe it. She'd mourned when Lucifer had been returned to the Pit. If it hadn't been for Crowley, she'd have killed Sam Winchester the second she'd seen him again. But now … now, she could finally do something.

Penemue slipped the open torc around his neck and swivelled the ends together. The lock gave a muted click as it closed. He walked to the bed, watching Castiel, who was cowering against the wall, the deep blue eyes wide and terrified; not really focussed on him, he thought, but something else he was seeing.

"Castiel." He leaned forward and gripped the angel's forearm, above the wrist, extending his other arm out to Meg. She stepped forward and held out her own arm, feeling the Watcher's hand close around it, turning to lock her hand around his.

Dean and Ellie looked at each other. Meg was in the circle.

Penemue closed his eyes.

There was a flare of red, deep within the blue of Castiel's eyes. It grew and brightened, spreading through the blood vessels of his face, of his head. Dean nodded unconsciously, memory rising. Ellie watched it carefully. The light was pulsating, and she glanced at Penemue's face, outlined in the reflected carmine glow, saw him frown as he concentrated more deeply.

"He's resisting," her voice was no louder than an exhaled breath. Dean turned his head sharply to look at her, looked back at the light.

The light was moving but incrementally, being dragged from the angel, through the big vessels of the neck and down the arm. When it reached the Watcher's hand, tightly clasped around the angel's wrist, it surged suddenly, leaving the angel completely and racing up Penemue's arm, filling his chest and throbbing in time with his heart.

Ellie saw Pen's face crumple as pain filled him, his breath coming fast and shallow as the light increased the pace of his heart. She could see it writhing upwards, through the arteries toward the neck, and stopping, brightening and fading as it fought against the power of the golden collar that lay against the Watcher's skin.

Penemue dragged in a deep breath, and they watched his face smooth out, as he shunted his awareness of the pain away and focussed tightly on the entity within him. It moved again, high into the shoulder, the brachial artery lighting up.

Dean realised why Ellie had thought that only the Watcher could help them. No one else, except for Cas, would have been anywhere near strong enough to force Lucifer out of one vessel and into another, and without the collar, he thought that the Watcher wouldn't have been to resist the devil's possession either.

The light stopped, down near the elbow, for a long moment. In its glow, Ellie saw sweat dripping from Pen's face, rolling down his neck and arms. Then it moved, fast down the arm and into Meg's hand, racing up through her and lighting her up, spreading through her chest and neck, flickering as it invaded the blood vessels throughout her body. The demon threw back her head, a low moan coming from her chest. Her eyes flashed red and widened, her fingers digging into Pen's arm.

There was a crash down the hallway and Sam yelled as the lights went out. Dean moved automatically toward his brother, and Ellie's hand flashed out, holding him still.

"The circle!"

Meg's head snapped down and around to look at them, the red gone now, hidden deep within her, but her eyes a flat black. In the corridor outside of the room, the sound of running feet was thunderous. Dean pulled out his lighter, as Sam was thrown back from the door and it crashed open. He dropped the flame onto the circle, and the oil caught, racing around the edge, but Meg had run through the last unlit quadrant before it closed, looking back at him over her shoulder, her mouth stretched in a wide, mocking smile.

Sam struggled to his feet, Ruby's knife in his hand. Dean pulled the Colt from his jacket, trying to find Meg in the seething mass of demons that broke through the glass-paned door and filled the room. Ellie pulled her knife from her belt, slashing and stabbing her way to the door. Castiel glanced at Penemue in surprise, then leapt from the bed and laid his hands on two demons, burning them out with clean, white angelfire. Penemue backed against the wall, drawing a black metal blade from his boot and driving the blood metal into the demons as they came near.

"Close your eyes." Castiel's voice rose above the shrieking, pounding, screaming noise that filled the room, above the thunder that boomed outside. "COVER YOUR EYES!"

The white light that filled his vessel came from Heaven, from the power of billions of souls. It flooded the room, driving out every shadow, burning through the meatsuits of the demons and sending them smoking out into the corridor, through the windows and into the night, leaving bodies and the hunters behind.

The light flickered and faded away, and Dean stood up slowly, letting the Colt fall to his side. Meg was gone. Lucifer was gone. They'd failed. He shook his head very slightly. He'd failed. With that automatic reaction to go to his brother's aid, he'd forgotten the circle, forgotten why they'd been there and blown it.

Sam turned away from the wall and pushed himself up, looking down at the ragged tear through his shirt, wincing at the pain of the wound that was leaking blood through it. Castiel looked at him and walked over, laying his fingertips on Sam's forehead. The wound vanished.

"I'm sorry, Sam." The angel looked up at the man. Sam shook his head. It wasn't all right, it was never going to be all right, but the angel hadn't been himself at the time. He didn't hold it against him anymore, seeing Lucifer go out of himself and into Cas had changed everything.

Dean turned and walked to Ellie, looking over her as he helped her up. "You okay?"

She nodded, her eyes running over him in the same way. "You?"

He shrugged. "I missed Meg."

"We'll find her." She turned, looking at the angel and the Watcher. "Can either of you see into Hell right now?"

"No." Penemue, wiped the blade in his hand and slid it back into its sheath.

Castiel shook his head abruptly, his voice sharp. "Only the archangels can see into Hell at will."

Ellie looked at him, concerned. "Are you all right, Cas?"

He turned away. "No."

Sam leaned on the hood of the car, tapping the keys of the laptop. After a moment, he looked up at around the faces surrounding him.

"They're all gone. No signs anywhere."

Penemue nodded. He touched his throat lightly, still feeling the phantom weight of the necklet that had protected him. The torc wasn't there; it was wrapped again in silk and tucked against his ribs under his shirt. "Called back. Their job is done."

He looked at Castiel. "I have to get back. The Others will know about this, they will also be rallying their forces," he paused, glancing at Ellie. "I'll return the torc to the monastery."

Castiel stepped forward, glancing at Dean. "I'll take him. I need to talk to the Watchers."

He laid his hand on Penemue's shoulder and they disappeared, the sound of fluttering wings and the sigh of the displaced air as it rushed to fill the space annoyingly familiar to Dean.

"Still need to talk to you, Cas," he said loudly.

"Guess we're done here?" Twist looked at Sam. Sam looked at Dean who shrugged.

"We have to find Meg." He looked at the hunters. "Anyone with any ideas on how to do that, step up now."

Ellie shook her head tiredly. "We can track her."

"Yeah? How?" He turned around to look at her. She held up a small gold coin.

"With this."

Sam frowned. "Is that Crowley's?"

"One of them." She slipped the coin back into her pocket. "The other one is in Meg's clothes. I put it there where we got here, just in case."

Dean looked at her for a long moment, uncertain if he should be feeling relieved or insulted. "Just in case I screwed up?"

She closed her eyes briefly. "Just in case she figured out the plan before it was complete and got away."

Twist looked from Ellie to Dean. "All good then. Does this mean we can go and some shuteye before we start?"

Ellie nodded, turning away from them and getting into the truck. She was exhausted. She needed food and rest, a lot of both. She turned the key, the engine rumbling into life. Dean stood at the driver's door beside her.

"Move over, I'll drive."

She looked down at him for a moment, then shifted across the bench seat, lifting a hand to Twist and Dwight and Sam as they got into their vehicles.

"Where are we going?" Dean glanced at her.

"Someplace with food and a bed." She curled into the corner of the truck, and closed her eyes.

He nodded and pulled out, checking in the rearview mirror that Sam was following them. Twist and Dwight made a left turn rather than right as they came out of the lot, heading back to their motel.

* * *

Dean stopped at an all-night diner, getting food for them, and found a motel close by. Ellie woke as he pulled into the space in front of the room, Sam's car drawing in beside them. She grabbed her bag and opened the door, climbing down carefully. She was shaking with fatigue, and she realised that she wasn't eating or sleeping enough for the two of them, the baby would take what it needed from her body, and she had to make sure that there was enough left for her to function properly as well.

She walked into the room and sat down at the table, not even looking at the bed. Food first, then sleep. Dean passed her a burger and fries and she ate fast, not noticing that the food was only lukewarm. Under the white fluorescent lights he could see that her skin was taut, and white again, the freckles standing out almost as much as the purple shadows around her eyes.

"Were you going to tell me about the coin, Ellie?" he asked softly. She looked up at him, and saw the doubt in his eyes.

"It was just a precaution." She finished the burger, and wadded up the wrappings, walking to the kitchenette to put them in the trash. She picked up a glass and filled it with water, drinking it slowly.

He nodded, looking down at the table. "Yeah."

She heard the edge in his voice and walked back to the table. "It was all happening fast, Dean. I just thought of it and did it and then Pen was doing the transfer … I didn't have time to bring everyone up to speed, and I couldn't have said anything in front of Meg anyway."

"Yeah. No, I understand." The edge was still there. She turned away, going to the bed and stripping off her clothes. She wanted a shower, to get rid of the smell of blood and sweat and give her muscles some relief, but she was too damned tired. Pulling back the covers, she crawled in and closed her eyes.

She heard Dean moving around behind her, the distinctive popping of the salt canister lid being prised off as he ran the lines around the room. The light went off and she listened to him getting undressed, felt the dip of the mattress as he lay down beside her. She waited, hearing the steady inhale and exhale of his breath. But he didn't move. For the first time, he didn't come to lie against her.

She wanted the comfort of his arms around her, but she didn't want to talk about what she'd done or why she hadn't told him. She knew she wouldn't get the one without the other. Five days of non-stop motion dragged at her, and she told herself she could deal with it in the morning, and let the thoughts go.

* * *

Dean lay on his back, listening to her breathe. She was asleep. She hadn't rolled over to curl against him either. He wanted to hold her, but something in the conversation they'd had, in the way she was lying there, apart from him, stopped him. He understood about making last minute decisions, but why hadn't she told him when they'd been in the room? He'd been carrying the guilt of letting Meg get away, knowing he'd screwed up – she could have told him then, given him a bit of hope.

How much hadn't she told him? Dying for him? Breaking into Hell for him? Did he know anything, really? He turned his head, looking at her. She knew him, better than anyone else, even his brother. She knew what he'd been through, what he'd done, how he'd felt about all of it. He thought he'd known a lot about her, but as he looked at her, he felt as if he didn't know anything. What had driven her to try and save him from Hell? To intercede with God on his behalf? She'd told Frank that she'd found the spell to get into Hell the first time because she was looking for a way to get him out. Frank had told him about it. Ellie hadn't mentioned it again after she'd gotten out of the hospital.

She had friends, powerful ones judging by what she'd been able to accomplish, people who would put their jobs on the line for her, their lives. Lovers? He shied away from that thought, it was too close to the doubts he was pretending not to have.

She was loaded, and she'd never mentioned it – well, she'd told Sam, but not him. They'd hunted together a few times over the years, but her network of hunter friends spread across the country, across the world, and she'd hardly mentioned them, rarely taken them to meet any of the others. She'd known Bobby but neither she nor Bobby had seen fit to mention that before she'd turned up at his place.

He shook his head. All these pieces, where did they fit? Why hadn't she told him?

_Why didn't you ask?_

The small voice deep inside wondered. He drew in a long breath, and held it. It was a good question. Why hadn't he asked? Sam obviously had. Frank had. Bobby must have. Why hadn't he?

He rolled onto his side. He wasn't in the habit of asking people much, he thought resignedly. He used to. Before … Hell. Before everything else. Now, not so much. A conversation he'd had with his brother, years ago, came into his mind.

"_So, what am I supposed to do, just cut everybody out of my life?" Sam looked at his brother disbelievingly as he turned away and shrugged. "You're serious?"_

"_Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can't get close to people, period."_

_Sam shook his head "You're kind of anti-social, you know that?"_

Maybe he'd always been that way. He'd wanted to be close to people, but every time he'd gotten close, close enough to feel the warmth of a friendship, they'd left … or died. Sooner or later that kind of training took.

He closed his eyes. From the start, he'd told her about himself, shared things with her that he hadn't with anyone else, let himself be vulnerable with her as he couldn't with anyone else. There had been something about her, something that he'd instinctively trusted. Something that had made it feel safe. Time had proved his instincts right about that. She'd never let him down, never betrayed that trust, never used what she'd known about him against him. He'd valued the friendship they had highly, even when he'd realised that he wanted more. And that had taken him a while to recognise.

But obviously she'd been a lot more reticent about telling him the details of her life. And he hadn't asked. On the rare occasions when he _had_asked, she'd brushed him off, changed the subject or diverted his attention. He'd gotten used to it, gotten used to waiting for her to tell him things, instead of trying to find out.

He listened to her breathing in the soft, settled patterns of sleep. He thought back over the last five days, since they'd left Whitefish. The two days of driving. A twelve-hour flight to Egypt. Driving a six-hour return trip across the desert. Flying another four hours to another country, then a three-hour return trip to the village or monastery or whatever it had been, and then flying out. Penemue had mentioned the flight, on the drive here – an hour to New Delhi, sitting in the airport for another two hours, then a fifteen-hour flight to Chicago. As soon as she'd arrived they'd driven another two-and-a-half hours to Rochester, prepared as much as they could for the demons, overseen the transfer of an archangel to a demon, and fought what had felt like a hundred demons. A good two hours' worth of tension and mayhem, he thought.

He was tired. He couldn't imagine that there was a word for what she was feeling. Exhaustion was somewhere in the ballpark, maybe. But it wasn't it. And then he'd asked her – accusingly – of why she was keeping her own counsel, why she hadn't told him of her plans.

He exhaled softly. He understood now why she hadn't rolled over to him, looked for his warmth, for whatever comfort he could give her. She would give and give, but tonight she'd had no more to give. Inside of her, there was a child, taking what it needed from her as well. And he hadn't even thought of that, until now.

He slid across the mattress, easing his arm under the pillow that cradled her head, wriggling closer until the length of his body pressed against hers, his arm draped lightly over her hip. He thought she took a deeper breath, her body relaxing a little more, but he couldn't be sure. He closed his eyes and breathed in her scent, of her skin, of her hair, and took a deeper breath himself.

_You fucked up tonight, not her_, he thought to himself. And at least some of the uncertainty he'd felt at the hospital, that had been driving his feelings, had been because of the relationship he'd seen between the Watcher and the woman lying next to him. He hadn't understood it at the time, and he didn't now, but there had been a familiarity between them, a partnership between them, and the sight of it had … rocked him.

He'd trained himself, a long, long time ago, to shut down and bug out when he'd felt jealousy, to use anger as a goad to leave before he could get hurt. He'd regarded it as simple logic – if the girl he was with was interested in someone else, they could have her. The fleeting stab he'd felt when Lisa had been dating again had come as a surprise, but it had disappeared the minute he'd walked out the door. This time, though, he couldn't leave and he couldn't shut it out.

He looked down at Ellie's face, softened in sleep. Had there been something between her and the fallen angel? He remembered the faint edge to Penemue's voice as he'd recounted his story about her killing herself. She had done that, not for the Watcher, but for him. And Penemue had not been happy about it, he thought. He closed his eyes, trying to separate the tangle of memory and emotion and thought.

He could ask her. He could ask her about everything. All the things he wanted to know. All the pieces that made up the puzzle of who she was, what had happened to her, what she had done, what she felt. He wasn't sure she'd tell him, but he could ask anyway.

What he couldn't do was to withdraw, let his reactions get in between them. His arms tightened a little around her and she shifted slightly, relaxing back against him.

* * *

The knock on the door woke him instantly. He looked down at Ellie, still sleeping in the curve of his arms. She hadn't woken. He moved slowly and carefully away from her, watching her resettle, a small line appearing between her brows as if she felt his absence. She rolled over and the line disappeared. He tucked the covers around her and pulled on his jeans, walking to the door.

Sam stood outside, holding three cups of steaming coffee, about to take a step into the room when Dean blocked his way, shaking his head.

"Still sleeping. I'll come to your room," he said in a low voice. Sam nodded, turning back. Dean grabbed a shirt, jacket, socks and boots and the key, then followed his brother next door.

"Is Ellie all right?" Sam put the coffees on the table and turned back to Dean, watching him hop around the room as he pulled on socks.

"Yeah, just didn't get much sleep the last few days, and she needs more sleep now, not less." He managed to drag the sock up and shoved his feet into his boots, pulling the shirt over his head as he sat down.

"Yeah, of course." Sam shook his head. "I keep forgetting about that."

Dean shot him a surprised look. "How?"

"Well, just everything else that's going on." His brother shrugged. "Has Cas come back?"

"No." He took a sip of the hot coffee. "I'm wondering if he will. He was – he was pretty devastated when his memories returned."

Sam looked at him, his expression wry. "Aren't we all?"

"He was talking about body counts in Heaven and on earth," Dean added.

Sam looked up abruptly, staring over his shoulder. Dean's mouth twisted.

"And he's behind me, right now, isn't he?"

"Hey Cas." Sam looked from the angel to his brother. Dean turned around in the chair.

"Just talking about you."

"Yes. I heard." Castiel moved to the third chair at the table, standing behind it. "Things are a lot worse than my ability to deal with my sins."

"Coffee?" Sam pushed the cup toward the third chair. Castiel looked down at it and shook his head.

"The Others are planning on allying with the Princes – or trying to. There are a lot of them."

"Pen said that the Princes would regard them as betrayers." Dean swallowed a mouthful of coffee. "They'd be thrown into Hell for it."

"Later, maybe. It depends on their negotiating skills. But right now, the six want Lucifer, so I think they'll accept whatever help they need in order to get him."

"What's the plan?" Sam looked up at him.

"I have to return to Heaven." Castiel looked around the room, then back to the men seated in front of him. "That felt strange. As if I've said and done this exactly before."

Dean sighed. "You have. A few times."

"We need you down here, Cas. What can you do in Heaven?" Sam frowned at him.

Castiel was silent for a moment, his head inclined slightly. "When the Horde of Hell rises to this plane, you are going to want an army ready to fight them," he replied mildly.

Sam and Dean looked at each other. "They're going to try and take earth by force?"

"Yes. I need to see how many of the Host survived the last year." An expression of mingled pain and shame crossed his features. "How many survived me."

He turned away, then looked back. "We must get Michael out of the cage. He is the only one who can lead the Host."

The sound of wings filled the room for a moment, then was gone, along with the angel.

"Demons rising to take over earth." Sam ran his hand sharply through his hair.

"Raising Michael from the Pit." Dean tipped his head back, closing his eyes. He turned his head and opened his eyes, looking at his brother. "Good times."

Sam snorted. "Yeah."


	24. Chapter 24 Hunters Gathering

**Chapter 24**

* * *

_**Winamac, Indiana**_

Ellie rolled over across the bed, opening her eyes and squinting at her watch. Eleven thirty-seven. That was some sleep.

She was starving and it drove her off the bed, to the bathroom for a fast shower, to get dressed. She was just pulling on her boots when the door opened and Dean came in, his gaze going straight to her.

He walked to her, looking into her face. "How are you feeling?"

"Mostly caught up." She smiled, and gave her boot a final tug. "Starving."

"There's a great place across the street, I can get you –,"

"It's okay. I'd rather get out in the air, I think." She looked around for her bag, extracting her wallet. "Have you and Sam eaten?"

"Yeah, but this is me, I can eat, no problem."

She nodded and stood up.

"Ellie." He stood in front of her, his hands sliding down her arms. "I'm sorry about last night."

She shook her head dismissively. "Don't. Okay? You didn't do anything wrong."

He looked at her uncertainly. "I did a whole lot of things wrong. Why are you blowing me off?"

She looked down, playing with the wallet held in her hands. "I'm not. I just don't want to fight."

"I'm not fighting. I'm apologising. I know I don't do it that often, but I thought you'd recognise it." He tilted his head, trying to see her face.

"I should have told you about the coin, alright? I know that." She looked away. "I'm just not used to … not working on my own."

He was shocked to see her eyes swimming with unshed tears when she looked up at him. "Ellie … come on."

She started to turn away from him, and he felt his instinctive response kick in, to let her go. Then he reached out, stopping her, stepping close to her, his arms enfolding her tightly. "Whatever it is, don't do this alone. Please. We're together, right? You and me."

She stood still next to him, not speaking, not moving. He wondered nervously if he was doing the right thing, if she didn't want him here right now, then he felt her arms lift and close around him slowly, her shoulders shaking as she leaned into him, felt her cheek against his chest and the wetness of her tears soaking into his shirt.

"It's okay, hey, it's okay." He lifted a hand, smoothing her hair softly, his heart hammering against his ribs because he didn't know what had caused this, why she was crying. Had he missed something? Had he done something? "It's okay, Ellie."

After a few minutes, he felt the sobs tapering off, and waited, breathing deeply. "What is it?"

He felt her chest expand under his arms, the ribs lifting as she drew in a deep breath. "Hormones mostly, I think. Fear, doubt, worry."

She didn't move as she spoke, her cheek still pressed against him, her arms still around him. He looked down awkwardly, unable to see her face.

"About what?"

She gave a short laugh that turned into a hiccup. "Everything. Us, the world, Hell, Heaven, the baby, where to live … everything."

He thought about that for a moment, confused but relieved. "Yeah, well, we'll figure it out, you know that, right?"

She nodded, lifting a hand and wiping her eyes, her face. She stepped back, pushing against his arms, and looked up at him. "I never get worried about stuff, you know, never. I've always been able to deal with whatever came along. Never even thought of being worried about practical things. Now …"

He stared down into her face as fresh tears rose in her eyes, spilling over, and pulled her back to him, holding her close. _What the hell?_

After a moment, she was still again. "This could just keep going on, Dean. Give me a minute, will you? I've got to get this under some kind of control."

He let her go, and she turned and walked into the bathroom. There was a knock on the front door behind him, and he turned around and opened it, looking at Sam.

"You ready?" Sam caught sight of the expression on his brother's face. "What's wrong?"

Dean shook his head as he heard the bathroom door open. "Later."

Ellie walked over to them, her eyes swollen and red, but her face smooth and calm. "Okay, I'm fine. I just need to eat."

He nodded and followed her out, closing the door behind them.

* * *

"Uh … pregnancy, hormones, emotions …" Dean shrugged, looking over his brother's shoulder as he typed the words in.

"Uh huh. Lots of sites." Sam started reading. "Pregnancy can be a real roller-coaster ride of the emotions - highs and lows and everything in between. Some women appear to 'bloom' during pregnancy; they appear full of life, happiness and vitality whereas other women are tearful and apprehensive."

"And some women switch between both." Dean looked at the wall between the two rooms.

"These feelings can often be very intense. Some women have unstable moods and feelings of depression, often for no apparent reason. None of these emotional responses is 'right' or 'wrong'. Physical feelings can also be intensified in pregnancy with many women finding that their sexual … uh, drive and … appetite increases, particularly in the first and second trimesters. Orgasms … uh, orgasms can be reached more easily or are stronger during this time." Sam cleared his throat and looked at his brother. The half-smile on Dean's face was definitely a smirk. Not a smile. Not a grin. But a smirk.

"Pregnancy is an intense experience; women experience huge hormonal changes and face a big life-changing event. There are natural concerns about the big changes a baby brings to a couple, their relationship with each other, and to their work, family and social lives. Worries about the timing of the pregnancy, and about possible financial stresses in the future are common."

"Yeah, and then there're the concerns about the devil running around, the possible uprising of Hell and a full-on war on earth, black-blooded monsters waiting to chomp anyone, fallen angels wanting to bring on the end of the world … yeah, okay, I get it." Dean straightened up, and rubbed a hand over his face.

"Basically, along with the normal worries, she's got a lot to deal with and the hormones are going amplify it all." Sam looked up at his brother. "You sure you're gonna be able to cope with this?"

Dean looked at him. "The alternative being … what?"

"I don't know." Sam looked away uncomfortably. "It's just that you're not exactly used to having to be … kind. Gentle. Understanding?"

"Thanks." He sat down on the end of the bed. "Going to have to get used to it, aren't I?"

Sam looked doubtful. Dean caught the expression and sighed.

"Look, I know what to expect now. That'll help."

* * *

"Crowley had a different technique; I don't know what it was." Ellie put the coin on the map and lit the candles. She murmured softly in Latin, her eyes closed, focussed on the identical coin that was in Meg's clothes.

Dean and Sam watched as the coin on the map began to tremble, then slid over the paper, moving first west then south. It moved another inch, jerking over the map's crease, then stopped.

Ellie opened her eyes. "Wow, she moved fast."

The coin was sitting on the city of St Louis, Missouri.

She looked up at them. "We need Frank."

"Why?" Sam looked down at the map.

"It's not like an electronic tracking device, Sam, we can't look at the map and drive. If she starts to move while we're on the road, we won't know about it until we stop and check again. Frank can watch the coin and let us know if she's moving and where."

She glanced at Dean. "And we need the others – all of them. She's crafty, and Lucifer's diabolical. Whatever we can think of to trap her, it's going to have to be airtight."

Dean nodded, turning away and pulling out his phone. Sam looked at her.

"How do we find Frank?"

"Where's your laptop?" Ellie blew out the candles and put the coin in her pocket, rolling up the map.

* * *

An hour later, they loaded the truck and car and pulled out, Sam leading this time, Dean following in Ellie's truck.

He glanced at her. "Ellie, tell me if you need to eat, or rest, okay?"

She looked at him, eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm not an invalid. Just had a couple of rough days."

"Sure, yeah." He could see she was going to be stubborn about it. "But tell me anyway."

* * *

_**West Bend, Wisconsin**_

"The coin will move when she does, as long as the candles burn," Ellie said quietly to Frank as they looked down at the map on the table. The coin was still over St Louis, the candles burning without a flicker. "How are you routing the phones?"

He smiled without a trace of humour. "Through TSAT, some of the older SATCOMs and Chinasat. As well as the usual ground stations, mostly CIA."

Ellie's mouth tucked in at the corners. "That seems reasonably secure."

Frank snorted.

"We'll need guidance, not only us but Twist, Marcus, Garth and Dwight as well. You'll be burning up the airwaves."

He nodded. "That's fine. I've been borrowing some of the T1 capacity while I'm here." He glanced out the window, across the field at the communications pole that sat in the middle. "Hardwired, mostly using the D-channel to hide in."

Ellie nodded. "No one's gonna see the blip of extra usage on that line?"

He shook his head. "No, the line reports an even flow across the entire length. No locations using more than any other."

"Nice."

"No one can track the signals coming from me, Ellie, but it's not going to be hard to triangulate positions where they go to the phone SIMs. I've been thinking about a kind of mobile telephone exchange, using rotating chips and codes for each of the phones – so that the individual signals can be falsely recording their transmission data."

Ellie thought about it for a moment, seeing the way it would work. "So one call would be reported in … say Arizona, the next in Quebec?"

"Yeah, exactly. It would make tracing the targets impossible." Frank took off his glasses and polished them. "It's going to be the only way to prevent the leviathans from tracking us, I think. Well, aside from hiding in caves and not using modern technology ourselves, I mean."

"Are you ready to put that into place?" She looked at him curiously.

"Not yet. Another few days and I will be."

"We'll be moving around a lot this week. I don't think anyone will be able to keep up – and they won't be able to anticipate us. But we'll meet up with you and get that going next week." She looked at him. "That work for you?"

"I think so."

* * *

Twist arrived first, with Dwight riding shotgun. The truck pulled up next to the Airstream and they got out, wandering over to talk to Sam and Dean. Garth was next, his Pacer belching blue smoke. Dean took one look at it and immediately had Garth raise the hood, burying himself in the engine.

Marcus came at sundown, his pickup rattling up the gravel road. He got out and turned, waiting for his passenger. A pair of very long denim-clad legs emerged from the door. Tricia Milson was five foot eleven inches, the same height as her uncle, long and lean rather than curved, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, framing an oval face with pretty sky-blue eyes and a wide mouth. She nodded to Twist and Dwight, and smiled shyly as Ellie greeted her.

"He rope you in for this? I thought you were in college?" Ellie hugged the girl, barely coming to her chin.

"Finished with college. And I wanted to come. I only went to college for Dad." Tricia murmured, looking down at Ellie. "Hunting's more fun."

Ellie made a face. "That's a matter of experience, but never mind."

Marcus' expression matched Ellie's. "That's what I told her too. She won't listen. Got her father's stubborn streak." He looked at Garth and Sam, standing by Garth's car and Dean, who emerged from the engine bay. "This is my niece, Tricia. Trish, this is Garth, Sam and Dean."

"Sam and Dean Winchester?"

The brothers looked at each other resignedly. "Yeah," Sam said.

"I've heard a lot about you boys." She walked over to them, offering her hand. "Nice to meet you finally."

Sam took her hand, and looked down at her – barely. It was a novel experience to meet a girl who was within six inches of his own height, and that he hardly had to tilt his head to look in the face.

Dean held up oil-covered hands and nodded to her. "Nice to meet someone who thinks it's nice to meet us."

He turned back to Garth. "This engine's had it, Garth."

* * *

They sat around the rough wooden picnic table that the camping ground had provided, a pressure lantern providing light, seven men and two women, their faces hard and experienced and worried in the bright glow of the lamp.

Ellie shook her head. "No. Everyone in pairs."

Beside her, Dean nodded. "Meg isn't an ordinary demon. She's smart and she's sneaky and the devil is riding with her. If we go in pairs, there's backup for everyone."

"We're going to be splitting up, taking different routes down to Missouri – or wherever she goes next – as well. We're too conspicuous in a big group. Frank'll keep us up to date on her location, via those phones. They should be safe, but if anyone sees a tail, or feels a tail or even has a bad feeling about something, you need to let Frank know and peel out. Head in the opposite direction for a while and see if it persists." Ellie looked around at them, her heart expanding a little with love for the men and girl who were willing to risk their lives to this.

The hunters nodded. It was SOP, not to drag along any more enemies if you were heading for a job.

"Figure out who you're riding with." Dean looked at Garth. "You gotta find a ride, Garth. That car isn't going to make it to Missouri."

Garth nodded sadly. He wasn't a mechanic, but he knew that the grinding noises coming from the front of the car couldn't have been good.

"Garth, you ride with me," Marcus turned to look at his niece. "You'll be better with Sam, he's experienced."

Sam flicked a glance at the girl beside him. She looked back at him.

"That okay with you?"

"Sure." He wasn't sure. He didn't want to have babysit someone without much experience. What he wanted to do – what he needed to do – was kill Lucifer and end this once and for all. On the other hand, she wouldn't drive him up the wall the way Garth would.

* * *

Dean stretched out on the bed, watching Ellie move around the room, checking their gear, her hair loose, catching the light. She was starting to show a little, her stomach curving outward now, low down, instead of the flat muscles he was used to seeing. The changes were gradual, sneaking up on them both. He'd heard her frustrated muttering this morning when her jeans were too tight for comfort. She'd pulled them off and dragged out a pair of cotton pants with an elasticised waist instead.

Ellie looked around and turned off the light, sliding into the bed next to him. He moved his arm as she wriggled close, settling her head against the hollow of his shoulder.

"Hey," he said softly. She looked up at him, then shifted higher, supporting herself on her elbow to look into his face, her thigh sliding over his for balance.

"What?"

He reached up with his hand, his fingertips feeling for the small vertical scar that lay between her breasts. He'd wondered about it, when he'd seen it the first time, when she'd come to Bobby's. It lay right over her heart. He found it, stroking down with his fingertip, looking into her eyes.

"Pen told me about this," he said, very softly. "He told me you did it to talk to God."

She looked away, her mouth twisting slightly. _Interfering bloody Watcher_. She drew in a long breath.

"Then you know all about it," she said lightly, not looking at him.

"No." He lifted his hand and his fingers curved around her jaw, drawing her back to look at him. "No, I don't. But I want to."

Ellie sighed, closing her eyes. "The prophesy said that you would die."

"Yeah … and?"

"And I couldn't think of any other way to change it." She opened her eyes, looking into his. "I had good reason to think that God would listen, He'd intervened before for me – and you."

He looked down at the little scar. "And if He'd decided not to, this time?"

"Then it wouldn't have mattered, would it?" She didn't know what he wanted from her. What she was supposed to say. She tried to move away from him, but the arm around her back tightened, holding her close. "You did the same thing for Sam."

He looked up at her, his eyes bright suddenly. "Yeah, I know. I just didn't think anyone would do that for me."

Understanding came, and with it relief. She shifted, leaning close to him. "Dean … I love you, do you think there's anything I wouldn't do for you?"

He ducked his head against her neck and she felt the splash of a tear on her skin. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She rested her cheek against his. "Because it worked. Because I didn't know what you would think about it. Because it never came up."

He nodded slightly, understanding those reasons, they were the reasons he'd had as well, when Bobby had been yelling at him, and Sam had started asking questions. He couldn't blame her for seeing things the same way.

A piece had fallen into place, and he wanted the rest of them to do the same. He lifted his head slowly, kissing her, looking into her eyes. "I get that, I do. I just … I need to know about you, Ellie."

"Like what?"

He glanced away, and back, feeling his hands suddenly become clammy with nervousness.

"Were you and Pen …," he stopped, not knowing how to ask what he needed to know.

Ellie raised her head, looking into his eyes. "Were we together?"

He nodded, uncomfortably.

She smiled. "He's a little on the old side for me, Dean. No. We weren't. After Raphael, I left the country for a while, we worked together, trying to get more of the nephilim to join the Watchers. He …" she hesitated, remembering their disagreements over the man beside her, "… he needed Michael's help, and he couldn't understand why I would choose you over the fate of the world." She shrugged at the memory, her lip curled up derisively. "Michael couldn't understand it either."

Dean was silent. He wasn't sure how to feel about that, another thing she'd done for him, another reference to something that had happened in her life that he didn't understand.

"He seemed angry, when he told me about what you did, about talking to God." He couldn't bring himself to say it plainly, couldn't go near the image of her thrusting a knife into her heart.

"He was." She closed her eyes. "He didn't believe that it would work. He thought I was giving up."

_"I was surprised that God even listened. He hasn't been listening, really, for a long time."_ He heard the Watcher's voice again, picking up the self-deprecation in it now.

"Is that why you've been distracted, Dean? Because you thought there was something between him and me?"

He looked away. "I don't know. I guess."

"You've never worried about that before," she said softly, and he turned his head back to her.

"I know." He lifted a shoulder slightly. "I don't know why I thought … I looked at you, coming out of the exit gate, and I thought … there you are, safe and … and whole, and you looked tired, but you were still the most beautiful woman there, and then he came out after you … and … he looked like some kind of damned rock star …"

She snorted with laughter beside him, and he stopped, frowning at her. "What's so funny about that?"

"Nothing." She shook her head. "I thought he looked like a rock star too."

"Yeah, well …" He pulled in a deep breath, feeling his way through what he'd thought, what he'd felt, slowly, "I thought, I was … so glad to see you … and then you took his hand … and … I … I," he shrugged helplessly, not sure what he'd thought when he'd seen that.

Ellie looked at him. "It wasn't affection, Dean. Pen was freaking, and I just wanted to get him out of the crowd, just wanted to find you."

He nodded, smiling slightly, his throat suddenly thick.

"There's a part of me … that thinks that this is too good to be true, to last," she said quietly. "That part always wonders if you're going to stay, even when you gave me this," she held up her hand and the dim light of the room gleamed on the ring on her finger. "Even when I look into your eyes, and see how you feel, it still thinks that … having so much, having what I wanted and never thought I'd get … it's going to fall apart, going to disappear."

He felt his doubts flutter and disappear as he listened to her. She was talking about what he felt, he thought.

"I know," he said. "Everyone I cared about died or left, everyone I needed … and it's hard to believe that won't happen again." His arm tightened around her. "Except that there's no way I'm going to let it happen with you."

She made an effort to smile at him.

He drew in a deep breath. "When Pen told me about what you did, I realised how much I don't know about you, and how much I want to know – need to know about you, about … hell, everything, everything you've done and thought and felt."

She glanced away. "That's a lot of stuff, Dean."

"We've got time, don't we?" His hand slid down to her stomach, resting there. "The rest of our lives, right?"

She looked down at his hand, then back to his face, her nose wrinkling up a little. "Our lives might not be that long."

The corner of his mouth lifted. "Good point. I still want to know."

"Ask me anything. I'll tell you." She sighed, settling down against him again, wrapping her arm around him.

"Not the summarised version, Ellie," he warned her softly. She smiled wryly.

"No, not the summarised version," she agreed.

* * *

The little convoy got on the road at dawn, splitting up at Milwaukee to take different routes. Sam and Trish in Sam's car, Twist and Dwight in Twist's truck. Marcus with Garth, in the heavy four wheel drive pickup.

Dean watched his brother turn west for Madison, as he kept straight on. He was a little surprised to find that he wasn't particularly worried about them splitting up. He felt Ellie's glance and looked over at her.

"No twinges?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head. "No, I can concentrate on what we're doing, not worry about him."

He smiled a little at the memory of his brother's expression when they'd met up outside the motel, watching Trish get out of Marcus' truck and walk across the car park. "And I think he's going to prefer the company he's got now."

* * *

The phone rang and Ellie picked it up. She listened for a few minutes and closed it again.

"She's still in St Louis, in a warehouse, on the western side of the river." She wrote down the address.

"Meeting someone there?"

"Yeah, that would be my guess." Ellie looked out the window. "The question is who?"

Dean exhaled noisily. "Too many contenders."


	25. Chapter 25 Best Laid Plans

**Chapter 25**

* * *

_**St Louis, Missouri**_

Ellie looked at the map in her hands, frowning in concentration as she translated the flat two-dimensional image into her three-dimensional memories of the western bank of the Mississippi River in St Louis. The address Frank had given her was one she knew reasonably well, the shipping yards and warehouses along the banks had been a part of her training ground a long time ago.

"There's a piece of rough ground on the other side of the Valvoline depot, next to warehouse she's in." She looked up at Dean's profile. "There's also a line of trees and undergrowth out the front." She looked back at the map. "We should go in on foot, after dark."

He nodded, watching the traffic as they approached the city. It was two o'clock now, they could meet, work it out and get some rest before heading in. "There's a motel opposite O'Fallon Park. Call Frank. Tell them to meet us there. It should be far enough away from the yards that she doesn't smell us coming in."

Ellie picked up the phone and entered the code, then the number Frank had given her. It was a prototype for the system he was designing and so far, it had worked well.

"Tell them to meet us at the Overlook Motel, off north Broadway." She hung up and tucked the phone in her bag again.

"We're going to have to scout out that building before everyone goes in." Ellie put the map away. "We won't be able to get her into a circle if we don't know the layout."

He glanced at her. "When you say 'we', you mean 'we', right?"

She smiled. "Yeah, I mean we."

"Okay then."

* * *

_**Route 63, Missouri**_

Sam glanced at the woman sitting next to him. The silence had stretched out quite a bit and he still couldn't think of anything to say.

Tricia turned to look at him. "Ellie said that you went to college?"

_College_, he thought, relaxing slightly. "Uh, yeah, did four years at Stanford."

"What were you aiming for?"

"Law degree."

"Really?" She smiled. "Doesn't fit in with hunting."

"No, I was getting out."

"Oh."

He decided to change the direction before it got too close to what he couldn't talk about. "What were you studying?"

"Uh, got a Bachelor's in Biology, my dad wanted me to get a medical degree. Figured it would be useful to have a doctor in the family." She shook her head.

"You didn't, uh, want to be a doctor?"

"Sure, it would've been okay. A lot of years training and all that."

"What happened?"

"He died. My mom died when I was little, so I left college and started hunting with Uncle Marcus." She looked at him, seeing the wrinkles in his forehead. "It's okay. I mean it's practically what happens to everyone, isn't it?"

_Yeah, pretty much_, he thought tiredly. "I'm sorry about your dad."

"Thanks."

"So now you're, uh, hunting with Marcus all the time?"

"Well, I just got back from college. He's trying his best to push me into doing something else. I just don't know what else to do."

Sam looked at her. "There are a million better things to do than this."

She shrugged. "Mmmm … yeah, that's what everyone keeps telling me."

"They're right." Sam heard his voice hardening. _Geez, tone it down_, he told himself. "You could do anything, have a normal life," he added more moderately.

"You didn't," she said quietly.

"That was different."

He was surprised when she laughed. "Yeah, for everyone else, it's always different."

"I wanted to get out." He felt his fingers tightening on the wheel. "My girlfriend was murdered so that I didn't get out."

He hadn't meant to say it, hadn't meant for it to come out so raw, so brutally. He kept his eyes on the road, aware that he was straining to hear her reaction.

"I'm sorry," she said finally. "I didn't mean to pry."

"You weren't." He shook his head. "It's just that I really wanted out. And you could still get out, before the life brings you so many enemies that it's impossible to leave."

He thought of his brother, almost out, then dragged back in because he couldn't protect the people he was with. It was different now, but he could still see Dean's face, twisted in the agony of not knowing how to keep Lisa and Ben safe, not knowing how to protect them from his past, from everything that haunted him. Jess' death had been seven years ago, and he still felt the guilt. It didn't matter that she'd been chosen to push him back into hunting, before he'd met her, before he'd fallen in love with her – if it hadn't been for him, she'd be alive now.

Tricia was silent, looking out through the windshield, watching the ribbon of road in front of them.

Sam's phone rang and he pulled it out, listening to Frank's instructions. He hung up and looked for an off ramp. They could come into St Louis from the west, rather than south as he'd planned.

"Was that Frank?" She turned to him, eyebrow lifted questioningly.

"Yeah. We're meeting at a motel. Dean and Ellie are scouting the building, and we'll go in after dark to trap Meg."

* * *

_**St Louis, Missouri**_

Ellie stood in the shadows of the line of trees, waiting for him. Dean locked the truck, ducking into the blackness beneath the trees and keeping to the shadows until he reached her. She was dressed in black, her bright hair hidden beneath a dark cap, and he'd hardly been able to see her.

"Ready?"

He nodded. She turned and started walking across the rough ground toward the river. The slight breeze brought the faint odours of decay from the mud banks to them. It was cooler too than the still air under the trees. The sky was overcast, and the only light was the far off twinkle of the lights on the other side of the river, the loom of the city to the north of them. He wasn't sure how she was finding her way so quickly and silently, he was right behind her and he'd managed to find every hole, shrub and branch.

The line of trees extended along the river bank and they walked slowly under their cover, passing the fuel depot and jetties and the piles that stood out from the shore, walking along the edge of the mud where the slope of the bank hid them from higher view.

It was only two or three hundred feet, and Ellie stopped under the jetty that stretched out from the yard into the river, pulling her binoculars from her bag and focussing on the warehouse to their left. There were no lights in the lower half of the building, but under the roofline, two small windows shone.

"She's there alone." Ellie tucked the glasses back in her bag, her voice less than a whisper.

"You sure?" He looked along the dark sides of the building, unable to see any movement but wary anyway.

"Not a hundred per cent." She glanced up to the lit windows. "She's in that top room. I didn't see any movement or shapes on the ground level. She wasn't talking to anyone or doing anything. Just sitting. Waiting."

Dean looked up at the window, feeling a prickle at the back of his neck. "Could this be a trap – for us?"

"Sure." Ellie looked at him. "But I can't think of any reason for one. We're definitely expendable now. Why not just kill us?"

He looked at her. "How do you stay so upbeat?"

"Come on." She moved along the bank until she was exactly diagonally opposite the corner of the tower, then crossed the open ground quickly, flattening in the shadows of the square building. Dean followed her carefully. There were no lights in the tower, which had three windows on the river side, making it a good lookout position. Ellie eased around the corner to the door and stood waiting. He stood beside her. After several moments she moved from the shadows of the tower to the shadows of the main warehouse, vanishing silently into the blackness.

They worked their way around the southern side of the building, remaining in the deep shadows until they found an access door. Ellie picked the lock quickly, and scanned the top and bottom for an alarm, finding nothing. Didn't mean the building wasn't alarmed, Dean thought.

"Upstairs or down here?" he breathed against her ear. She gestured to the centre of the open space ahead of them.

"We'll drive her down here." She pulled the mottled gold bottle of oil from her bag, handing it to him and turning to face the darkness surrounding them, scanning the shadows. He poured out the oil slowly, concentrating on making a circle that was big enough to be able to force Meg into, not so large that she'd be able to get out when they lit it. They should have two or three lighting it at the same time, he thought. He finished and handed the bottle back to her, watching it disappear back into the bag.

"We all done?"

She nodded, and they retraced their steps silently to the door. This was too easy, she thought to herself. Who was Meg waiting for that she hadn't posted a guard, or set up trip alarms?

They slipped back along the muddy banks, moving slowly to avoid drawing attention. The whole thing had taken barely forty minutes, and aside from the unsettling ease of the job, she thought that the rest of the plan would work fine.

Climbing into the truck again, Dean saw the small line between Ellie's brows, the line that meant she was worried.

"What's wrong?" Dean half-turned to look at her, his hand on the key.

"It was too easy."

"Yeah. Well, maybe we're catching the breaks on this one?" He didn't believe that, agreeing with her assessment. It _had_ been too easy. Nothing was that easy in his experience. But he didn't want to jinx the damned job either.

"I don't think so." Ellie rubbed her fingertips over her forehead.

"You want to call it off?"

She thought about it, then shook her head reluctantly. "Every minute we give her is another minute closer to her meeting up with whoever she's meeting. Even if it's a trap, we have to spring it." She looked at him. "We don't have a choice."

He started the engine, turning onto the street with the headlights off, driving until they reached a cross-street, then turning them on and heading back to the motel, via the scenic route.

* * *

Four hours later they were back, this time parking four streets away from the river. Sam, Tricia, Marcus and Garth were taking the western side of the building. Dwight and Twist would take the entrance that she and Dean had gone in through earlier. Ellie waited beside the square tower, Dean picking the lock to the door at its base, then both of them climbing the narrow iron staircase to the level where the ridge pole ran from the tower to the roof of the warehouse.

"You didn't mention this when we were here earlier." Dean looked at the steel scaffolding and down at the ten metre drop below it.

"Thought I'd surprise you." She opened the window silently, easing herself sideways through it, feeling with her foot for the lower frame.

"I'm surprised." He watched her swivel around, drawing her other leg out, looking back at him as she balanced on the narrow frame. "Can I go with Twist now?"

He saw the quick flash of her teeth as she smiled in the dark. She turned and began to crawl quickly along the scaffolding, her black clothing looking little more than shadow on the grey pipe work. He sighed and manoeuvred himself through the small window, hands gripping the pipe tightly as he found a foothold on the lower frame and followed her across the drop.

The window at the other end was smaller, and he had to go through arms extended and head first, inching along the frame until his knees were past it before he could sit up and draw his legs in.

The lighted room was right in front of them. Ahead of that was the mezzanine staircase leading to the ground floor. He could see why Ellie had wanted to come in this way; Meg had no where else to go but down.

He climbed down from the frame carefully. Ellie had moved to take point, she was about three feet in front of him. She stood on the hinge side of the door, waiting as he stepped up and kicked, twisting so that his boot sole hit the door just above the lock, with every ounce of his weight behind it. The lock broke free and the door slammed open.

Ellie was inside as he shifted his balance, moving fast toward Meg. The demon had leapt up at the noise of the door, and was backing quickly toward the other end of the room.

"Dean! What a surprise." Meg glanced from side to side, looking for a way out, or a weapon. She looked at the long, slender knife in Ellie's hand, the shorter, wider serrated blade in Dean's and gave a breathless laugh.

"Come on, you're not really going to try to use those pig-stickers on me, are you?" Her voice changed, the pitch dropping, the timbre becoming more round. "I thought you'd have remembered that they can't do anything to me, Dean."

Dean's step faltered as he recognised the voice coming out of Meg's mouth. He straightened up as he saw Ellie continuing forward from the corner of his eye, taking a longer stride to get even again.

"They won't kill you, but they'll kill Meg." Dean looked into the reddish eyes with certainty. "No vessel, no return to power."

Lucifer laughed. "That's the theory, but I've surprised even myself with what I'm capable of doing, so don't lay down your money just yet." Meg's head turned, and the red-rimmed eyes looked at Ellie.

"And this must be Eleanor."

Dean felt his chest constrict, he bit down on his instinctive response.

"I've heard a lot about you. I have to say, you're smaller than I'd thought you'd be."

Ellie ignored him, moving in a shallow circle around Meg to cut off any chance of the demon trying to get around her.

"You're a spoiler, they say." Lucifer was still backing as they got closer, but kept his attention on Ellie. "Came very close to ruining our plans several times."

Ellie looked the demon obliquely as it backed into the corner. "Well, you know the motto – if at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again."

Lucifer laughed. "Oh yes, that's what I'm doing."

Meg spun around and crashed through the window in the corner of the room, blood streaming from a dozen deep cuts as she scrambled over the shards and ran for the stairs to the ground floor.

Ellie ran forward, putting her hand between two upright pieces of glass and vaulting through the opening, feeling the slash of a piece of glass against the side of her thigh where she'd misjudged the height, but ignoring it. Dean grimaced and kicked out the long shards, letting his jacket slide down one arm and around his hand before he did the same.

The demon leapt down the stairs and stopped as Sam and Tricia, Garth and Marcus emerged from the shadows around her, spreading out into a loose circle. Ellie and Dean prodded her forward as they came up behind her.

Lucifer looked around the faces of the hunters that surrounded him, his gaze moving from one to the next in quick succession. Ellie shifted right as Twist and Dwight closed up to Dean.

"Sam! Long time no see." Lucifer's gaze locked onto Sam, singling him out. Sam kept his face expressionless, moving forward with the rest, tightening the circle around the demon. "Of course, not that long, but it feels like a long time. But we were so close, I couldn't tell what was you and what was me."

Dean stepped forward slightly, unable to prevent himself from trying to divert the devil's attention from his brother. Ellie swore to herself as she noticed the shift, but didn't take her eyes from the demon, just pushed forward a little harder.

Meg was almost in the circle when she stopped, her head cocking suddenly as if she'd heard something. Ellie felt it, a deep vibration that reverberated through her bones.

"Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, I've got company coming tonight." Lucifer stretched Meg's mouth in a delighted grin.

"Dean, push her back!" She ran toward to the demon, reversing the knife in her hand, as Dean took two long strides forward. Meg stumbled back into the circle and Twist and Garth lit the oil from either side, the flames racing around the rim and joining, Meg and Lucifer finally inside.

The rumbling noise became louder and more distinct, rising through the ground and increasing in pitch, the concrete floor splitting and cracking.

Dean looked at Ellie and she shook her head frantically. "Everyone get back, get out. NOW!"

She ran for him, as the others scattered, racing away from the circle and the demon held inside, away from the ground that was shattering beneath them. Dean turned and ran with Ellie, feeling a blast wave of heat hit his back, the air expanding, pushing them forward as if a bomb had exploded behind them. He saw Ellie stumble as the force outpaced her feet, reached out and caught her, his longer stride keeping them both upright. He glanced back and saw a deep red light spilling out of the ground, filling the interior of the warehouse, pulsing slowly like the beat of a heart. In the centre of the light, several shapes stood, indistinct, like shadows. He'd never seen them before, never even heard of them until recently, but he knew what they had to be. He pushed Ellie out through the door ahead of him, and felt a second blast lifting him, shoving him forward as the warehouse exploded around them.

* * *

He hit the ground hard, rolling, metal and glass and plastic flying over his head, the night lit up with fire behind them. He could hear the clanging, clattering, crashing noises of the warehouse's structure and contents hitting the ground around him, the hiss of steam as they hit the river beyond. His ears were ringing from the noise of the blast, and he could feel liquid trickling down the side of his neck from some wound or other. He couldn't see Ellie, didn't know if she was ahead of him, or behind him. He got to his knees, looking around, the area around what was left of the building littered with burning metal, burning plastic. The flames were too bright to look at and he threw his arm over his eyes, squinting as he tried to see around them, tried to see if anyone was moving.

* * *

Sam lifted Tricia, staggering across the road with her in his arms. He wasn't sure what had happened, only that for some reason an almost empty metal warehouse had exploded. It was too close to the fuel depot, he had to get away, further away, had to get her out of here. The car was four blocks away, and he ran, stumbling over the kerbs and veering from side to side, unaware as yet of the long metal shard that was sticking out of his leg, preventing the muscle from expanding and contracting.

* * *

Garth raised his head, seeing Marcus lying beyond him, the older man frighteningly still. He crawled to him, and lifted his head, felt the sharp prick on his hand and looked down, seeing the fragment of metal emerging from the side of Marcus' skull, seeing the lifeless eyes. He turned around and saw the fire, reaching up into the sky, and remembered the Valvoline depot next to it, the big round tanks of fuel … he staggered to his feet and ran.

* * *

Twist picked himself up and gripped Dwight's wrists and ankles, hoisting the other man over his shoulders. He headed for the road, smelling the fire, smelling the heat. He didn't remember what had happened, but he remembered where the car was, remembered that he had to get out of there right frickin' now because something worse was going to happen.

* * *

Ellie rolled over, sucking air in painfully. She'd been shoved forward, flying almost, and had hit the ground with her hands and forearms, tucking and rolling to try and break the impact. She'd hit the tree trunk with her back, knocking the breath from her lungs. She could feel the muscles protesting as she sat up, but aside from the grazes and some minor pain she seemed to be okay.

She looked up and saw Dean wandering around, back toward the burning building. Something told her that she had to get him, they had to get out of here, fire was dangerous here. She got to her feet and ran for him, knowing that she was shouting, unable to hear the sound of her voice.

Dean turned and saw her. He followed her as she reached him, turning and running down the slope, through the trees, not sure why they were running, but willing to go where she led. The river was in front of them and she wasn't slowing down, her hand tight on his arm as she dragged him in.

WHUMPF! WHUMPF!

Below the muddy river's surface, he saw the world explode in flames. He couldn't see Ellie ahead of him; he could feel her pulling him, kicking through the current, angling them downstream away from the fiery sky and the burning heat he could almost feel through the freezing cold river. He kicked out, feeling his chest burning as the breath he was holding ran out of oxygen, feeling himself sinking slightly in the water, feeling the cold penetrating through the layers of clothing, to his skin, and deeper, taking strength from his muscles.


	26. Chapter 26 Michael Must Be Raised

**Chapter 26**

* * *

_**St Louis, Missouri**_

Ellie felt him sinking and struggled up to the surface. She hoped they'd come down river far enough to be clear of the debris, of the burning gasoline that was raining down. She broke through to the air and dragged in a deep breath, sinking again as she hauled at him, pulling him up and getting his arm over her shoulders as they broke the surface. She felt his chest shudder and expand, saw his eyes opening as the fresh air filled his lungs. In the brilliance of the fire's light, she could see the puckered white edges of the head wound above his ear, washed bloodless by the river water.

He started treading water, his eyes focussing as oxygen filled his blood, pumped through his body. She pulled at him, drawing him after her as she kicked for the banks and he added his stronger kick to hers, feeling the bank slope beneath his knees and pulling himself out of the water next to her.

For several minutes they lay on the bank silently, just breathing. Then Ellie sat up, and turned his head to one side, looking at the wound. A little blood filled the centre, but it wasn't flowing strongly. She looked at him.

"Can you hear me?"

He nodded. The ringing had become a low buzzing, he could hear again. The roar of the fire upriver. The harshness of his breath, rasping in his throat. Her voice.

"We have to get going. Get back and find the others." Ellie got to her feet stiffly, and held out her hand. He took it, letting her draw him to his feet, feeling the stiffness in his own muscles from the cold water. They'd work out once he got going. His head was sore, and he reached up to the ache, feeling a sting as he touched it.

"What happened?" He looked at the fire, looked back at her.

"It wasn't a trap, but it might as well have been. The Princes rose and took Lucifer," she said with a sigh. "The warehouse exploded, and it took out the fuel tanks next door."

He looked up the river, at the fire raging along the buildings, and walked with her up the bank. They crossed the road and headed inland, turning right when they were several blocks from the water, and heading north to where they'd left the cars.

* * *

_**Overlook Motel, St Louis**_

Ellie wrapped the towel around herself, and dried off. The cut on the side of her thigh was stinging, but that, some terrific bruising on her back and her messed up palms and forearms seemed to be the extent of her injuries.

Along with the cut on the side of his head, three inches long but not deep, a vivid purple against his scalp, where she'd shaved the hair away, she'd also had to pull out a four inch piece of glass from Dean's back, where it had hit his shoulderblade and lodged in the bone. He'd cracked three ribs, and broken a finger.

Sam, Trish and Dwight were at the local hospital. Garth and Twist were in their rooms, a few doors away.

Sam had a long cut down the side of his face, and a hole in his leg where a piece of metal had gone straight through the big muscle of his thigh, missing the femoral artery by less than inch. Tricia's multiple cuts and bruising, a lump on her forehead and a fractured wrist were taken care of in the ER. Garth and Twist managed to walk away with bruising and a few cuts. Dwight had a suspected skull fracture. He was in hospital under observation. Marcus was dead.

Considering that the explosions had taken out a six block area, she supposed they'd been lucky. None of it felt particularly lucky. Her memories of the progression of events were coming back. Dean had told her that he'd seen figures coming out of the ground in the warehouse. She wondered how much fun the angel was having now that he was powerless, and in the company of the arch-demons he'd created.

She walked into the room, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Dean looked up at her. She'd taped his ribs and put three stitches in to close the wound on his back. A dressing covered the cut in his scalp, held in place by a bandage wound all the way around his head. She'd straightened his finger and taped it to the one next to it. He'd refused to go to the hospital, and had provided his own anaesthetic by drinking half a bottle of whiskey.

"Hey."

"Hey." She leaned over and kissed him, hiding a smile at the slightly goofy look in his eyes. He was kind of a fun drunk, earnest and generous and convinced of the importance of the things that occurred to him. He also became highly romantic.

"Are you all right?" He looked at the towel owlishly. "Under there?"

"Yeah, all okay." She let the towel drop, slipping into the bed next to him, feeling his hand slip up over her hip, and cup her breast. "You should sleep, you need to rest."

"Yep. I really need to sleep." He closed his eyes. "My finger hurts."

"It'll feel better in the morning."

"I'm cold."

She snorted softly and shifted slightly closer to him, slipping her thigh over his, and resting her arm over his stomach, below his ribs. "Better?"

"Mmmm." He opened his eyes and his hand rubbed slowly over her breast. "We could, uh … you know, fool around."

She smiled at his optimism. "Go to sleep."

"Mmmm."

* * *

_**Scotts Mills, Willamette Valley, Oregon – 2 weeks later.**_

Sam looked around the table, his gaze lingering on the faces there. Dean was listening to Dwight, the faces of both men serious, the lines etched more deeply than the last time they'd gathered like this. The hair was just growing back over the cut on the side of Dean's head, but he could see the thin scar through it. Ellie, beside his brother, was looking away, the bones of her face standing out, she was much thinner. On the other side of the table, Twist's hair and beard were almost all gray now; Tricia sat next to him, her face pinched looking, sorrow had stolen the brightness from her eyes, she listened sombrely to the conversations around her. He finished the whiskey in front of him and leaned back, turning his head to look around the small bar, sparsely occupied, the locals keeping to themselves on the other side of the room.

The door opened and Frank came in, shaking raindrops from his coat as he hung it on the rack next to the door. He looked around discreetly, keeping his gaze low enough to avoid eye contact with anyone, then made his way to the bar, ordering a drink before he came and took the chair next to Sam.

"So. Another cluster-fuck." He looked around the table.

Dean shrugged. "Yeah."

He looked up as the bartender brought his drink over to the table, looked around for any other orders, then left.

"What's Plan B?" Frank sipped the clear liquid in his glass. "Is there a Plan B? Or are you all going to crawl away and lick your wounds somewhere safe and dark and quiet?"

Ellie saw Twist's face darken. "Take it easy, Frank."

She looked around the table. "Plan B is actually a two-parter. Pen is on his way back. The Others have already entered the country, and they'll be gathering, perhaps to find an alliance with Hell, perhaps not. Some of us are going to have to take care of that. We also have to figure out a way to get Michael out of the cage."

The silence that followed was complete. She looked at their faces, seeing shock, disbelief, doubt and fear. Beside her, Dean sighed.

"What are the 'others'?" Tricia asked softly, her gaze on Ellie.

"More fallen angels," Frank grated tersely. Ellie glanced at him and nodded, turning back to Tricia.

"They chose to fall, to live on earth. They agreed with Lucifer, but not enough to join up. They're not as powerful as Pen, and nowhere near as powerful as Castiel or any of the Host, but they're a lot more angel than human, and it's hard to kill them."

"Define 'hard'." Twist leaned toward her.

"You have to cut out their hearts." She looked at him. "Or they don't die."

"That's not all." Dwight looked at Tricia. "There are the nephilim to consider as well."

"What are the nephilim?" She looked from Dwight to Ellie.

"The nephilim are the offspring between a fallen angel and a human," Ellie said quietly. "When the Others fell to Earth, they took human wives, had children. God wiped out most of them in the Flood. But a few survived. Like the fallen, there are nephilim working for the good of humanity, and those who are not." She looked at Tricia's face, seeing the confusion there. "The nephilim are more powerful than the fallen angels – they have all the powers of an angel, although they can't draw on the power of Heaven. They also can't be killed without cutting out the heart."

"Is there any good news in this at all?" Garth looked at her, his face twisting in frustration that didn't really mask the fear underneath. "I mean, we're talking super-powerful angels, super-powerful half-breeds, super-powerful demons, war on earth … what's the up side?"

Ellie smiled a little. "Well, if we can get Michael out of the cage, he can lead the Host of Heaven against Hell. And if we can help Pen and the Watchers against the Others, then we should be able to wipe them out as well. How's that?"

"Still sounds more like eighty-twenty to me," Garth muttered, looking at his soda.

"Yeah, it's long odds." Dwight looked at him. "But when do we ever get anything else?"

Dean leaned toward Ellie, his voice quiet. "We need to talk with Cas and Pen. We're just shooting in the dark here."

She nodded, and looked around the table again. "For the moment, we're on call. We should probably stay close, maybe stay around here for a while. But if anyone wants out, then they should go. This is a volunteer-only job."

She got up, pushing her chair back. Dean stood up as well, looking at Sam.

Sam caught the glance and nodded, turning to Tricia. "Uh, you got a place to stay? We've got plenty of room, if you need one?"

She looked at him, at Ellie and Dean. "Thanks, but I'll be staying with Dwight for a while."

He nodded and turned away, following Ellie and his brother out of the bar.

* * *

"We could make this our base." Dean looked at Ellie as he put another couple of logs onto the fire.

She murmured something absently, staring at the laptop open on the low table in front of her.

The house was a rental, a hunting lodge on the edge of the Santiam State Forest. Four bed, three bath, plenty of room and tucked away out of sight of the road. It was strongly built, and had been constructed before fashion dictated that every exterior wall have dozens of windows and doors. It would be easy to defend, he thought, looking around.

"Ellie?" He walked to the couch, sitting down next to her.

"Mmm?"

"The house, a base?" He looked at her profile, recognising the inward look. "Ten kids? A few pets? I'll get a job as a male stripper at the bar?"

She caught the last few words, and blinked. "You want to strip at the bar?"

His smile was lop-sided, crinkling up the side of his face that didn't pull at the cut. "You think I'd do any good at it?"

She shook her head. "Too inhibited."

"I am not."

"Can you call Cas?" She rubbed the inside of her wrist against her forehead, trying to ease away the headache that was threatening.

"Castiel. Cas, we could use your input here. Trying to figure out what to do next?" Dean closed his eyes, concentrating on the angel. "Cas?"

He looked up, and Castiel stood in front of the fire, still wearing the battered and bloodied trenchcoat he'd given back to him months ago. _Man, need to get him a new one_, he thought distractedly.

"I don't have much time," the angel said shortly.

"What's the situation in Heaven, Cas?" Ellie looked at him. "Do you have enough angels to take on the horde?"

"With Michael, yes."

"Right." Dean looked at him. "Can you lift him out? Like you did Sam?"

Castiel shook his head. "That was different. And I was stronger then, Heaven was stronger. Michael is in Adam's physical body, I could – maybe – get him out, but not Adam and his soul as well."

"How do we get in? The Cage is at the centre, isn't it? The Ninth level?" Ellie asked.

"Yes. You can get in, the way you have before. But I don't know that you'd make it to the Ninth level. Not now."

"You'll be coming with us, right?" Dean looked from Ellie to Cas, wondering if he was missing something.

"No."

Ellie sighed, glancing at Dean. "We'll have to sneak through."

He gave a strangled laugh. "Sneak? Through Hell? To the Cage?"

"We can open the Cage with the key, it'll let us out straight to this plane. But yeah, getting in – we can't fight our way through. So it's going to have to be … subtle."

"Subtle. That's hilarious." He looked from her to Castiel. "Subtle?"

Castiel shrugged. "She's right. We don't have the force to be able to break him out. And I don't have the power to go in and lift him myself. If I go with you, the arch-demons will know. They're angels. They'll feel me. But two or three humans, your souls will go unnoticed, if you can keep out of sight, you should be able to make it. And yes, with the key, the Cage will open straight to this plane."

Dean looked at Ellie. "You're not going."

Her mouth twisted slightly. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm the only one who's been in Hell enough times to know where I'm going."

"Are we finished? I have pressing business …" Castiel looked at them.

"No." Ellie turned away from Dean. "What about the Others?"

The angel looked at her. "They outnumber the Watchers by ten to one, not counting the half-breeds. They are looking for an alliance with Lucifer, with the arch-demons."

"Will Lucifer make a deal with them? To secure the surface?"

"I don't know. Possibly." Castiel shook his head. "It can't have escaped him that he's going to be a puppet in Hell, controlled by those he spent so many centuries torturing. He always was quick to see the main chance."

"What happened to him, Cas? Why did he lose his powers?"

Castiel sighed. "I don't know that either. I tried to find out, while he was … inhabiting me. But … I don't think he knows himself."

She looked away for a moment, her face thoughtful. She put the idea aside for later consideration, aware that Castiel wanted to be gone. "Can you contact Pen? Tell him where we are?"

Castiel nodded. "I will. I have to go."

The sound of wings filled the room for a heartbeat then faded away. Dean got up, walking to the cupboard at the side of the room and pulling a bottle of whiskey from it. He tipped an inch into a glass and swallowed it, turning to lean on the cupboard, his face expressionless as he looked at Ellie.

"Alright. Let me have it."

"A series of agonising tugs, or one long screaming rip?"

"One long rip."

"We need to go to Hell. Get Michael out. You and me, I think." She got up and walked to him. "Sam and the others need to help Pen. The Others will be looking for a gate, I think they'll go to Wyoming or maybe Bear River, in Utah."

He shook his head. "How about me and Sam go to Hell and get Michael out, and you stay here and direct operations with Pen and the Watchers without getting involved?"

"Do you know how to get to the Ninth Level? Do you know how to cross Adoian Baltim?"

He looked at her, frustrated. "I don't even know what you just said."

"Okay then. So we're clear?"

"No. Hell, no." He looked away for a moment. "You can draw us a map, you can tell us how to get through whatever it is, you don't have to be there."

She smiled at him ruefully. "Actually I do. Maps are useless. The angels have blueprints of Hell, but they're not flesh, and those layouts stay fixed. When you go in there in your body, the physical aspects of it change. Sometimes a lot. And I can't explain to you the things that are there. The Lake of Fire alone is going to be just about impossible to cross."

She stepped close to him, slipping her arms around him, and looked up into his eyes. "Besides, if it comes to it, I'd rather die beside you."

He closed his eyes. "Jesus, don't." He pulled away from her, walking distractedly away. "You're not going. There's no way."

"Really?"

Sam stopped at the doorway, looking at his brother, seeing the scowl on his face, hearing the edge in Ellie's voice.

"Not going where?" He looked at Ellie. Dean turned around.

"Not going to Hell. We can do it, you and me. Ellie's not going."

Sam looked at Ellie. Her face was cold and expressionless.

"Sam, you'll be helping Pen and the Watchers," she said, her voice crystalline.

"Ellie, I said no."

"And you can say it again if you want to, it won't change a thing." She stared at him.

"Uh … I have a thing … in … somewhere … else." Sam turned around and left the room.

"Why do you have to make this so difficult?"

"I'm not the one making it difficult." She crossed her arms, her face set. "You can't open a gate, you don't know where you're going once you get in there. And if you think that it would be easier for me sitting here wondering if you're dead down there, then think again."

She could see the frustration in his face, the fear behind it. "Dean, either we go together, or I'll go alone. Those are the only choices you have."

He looked at her, hearing the implacability in her voice. She would go alone if he kept fighting her, he knew it. That scared him more than the thought of her going with him. How did she always manage to box him into a corner? He wanted to protect her, to keep her safe and she resisted his efforts at every opportunity. His shoulders slumped as he gave in.

"Why?"

"Because we have to do it. We can't walk away. And I told you, if we don't make it, I'd rather be with you than safe and alone."

"I'd rather you were alive." He turned away from her, walking out of the room.

She watched him go, fighting her instinct to follow him. He needed to figure this out for himself.

* * *

Ellie looked at the clock as he came into the bedroom. Quarter past eleven. She lay on her side, listening to him. He got into the bed, lying still for a moment, then rolling over to her, his body fitting to hers, his skin cool against her warmth. She felt his arm slide over her hip, his breath flutter against her neck.

"I don't want to lose you." His voice was raw. She closed her eyes.

"That's a risk we both face every day."

"It gets more loaded with what we're doing." She could almost see the frown drawing his brows together.

"I did this for a lot of years before I met you. I'm good at it, Dean."

He shook his head slightly. "This isn't about how you can take care of yourself, Ellie. It's not about how capable you are. It's about how it's going to kill me if anything happens to you," he hesitated for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "You're the person I love most in this world, the one I don't want to live without. You're the mother of my child. I'm – I'm supposed to protect you, to take care of you, and y-you won't let me."

She knew what he was saying, knew what he meant. "I can't change who I am, Dean."

"I know, and I don't want you to." He knew that was true, everything that was most frustrating him about her right now, were the very things he'd been attracted to, the things that had forged his feelings. "If I'm honest, there's no one else I'd rather have watching my back than you."

She waited, listening to him breathe, feeling him struggle with his thoughts.

"I know how Dad felt now, losing Mom, not knowing how to protect his family." He took a deep breath, his arm tightening around her. "Maybe if she'd told him, they could have protected each other."

The words came out as a whisper, and Ellie felt her throat ease. He was finding his way, she thought with relief. They'd talked about this before, looking after each other, but she knew that each new threat, each new danger would present him with the same dilemma, the same desire to keep her out of it, away from harm. The problem was there was no place that was safe, that was away from the danger.

She turned over slowly, within the curve of his arms, and looked into his eyes.

"You ever read the Declaration of Independence?"

He shook his head, his eyes narrowing slightly at the non-sequitur.

Ellie smiled. "When I was thirteen, my school had a field trip to Washington, and we saw it. One of the things in it … changed me, I guess. Gave me a reason to do what I do, become who I am now." She closed her eyes, remembering the passage as clearly now as when she'd first read it.

"_But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and provide new Guards for their future security_."

She opened her eyes, looking at his expression. "It means that when something goes wrong or if there is injustice or tyranny, the people who have the ability to take action, also have the responsibility to take action, to get the job done."

"One day soon, I'll be relying on you to protect me, to protect us," she slid her hand down between them and curled it protectively over the shallow bulge. "Because I won't be able to."

He inhaled deeply, feeling a frisson of fear race along his nerves at those words. She was right. The thought was more terrifying than he'd imagined, and he knew that he did rely on her skills, her experience, to keep her safe as much as he tried to do the same. She'd dragged them into the river when the tanks had exploded. She'd pulled him to the surface when he'd started to sink. And if they were to have a snowball's chance of getting through the levels of Hell and finding and releasing the archangel, it would be because of her knowledge, her skills, her experience.

"It scares the crap out of me, thinking about losing you," he said simply. She nodded.

"I know. I'm terrified of losing you." She kissed him gently. "You can't think about it, Dean. You can't give it room."

"Is that what you do?"

She nodded. "When we're working, yes. If I let those thoughts in, I'd be too worried about you to do my job. I'd die, or I'd lose you, and that would be the same thing."

He closed his eyes, thinking about the warehouse. He'd been aware of her, as he was always aware of Sam, ready to jump in between either one of them and any potential threat. It was wearing. Twice, he knew for sure, he could have put them in jeopardy because he'd been thinking of their safety instead of thinking of what he had to do to get the job done. She hadn't remarked on those times. She knew what he'd been thinking. But he understood why she wasn't prepared to let him go into Hell with Sam. How did he retrain himself to not do that?

As if she'd been following his thoughts, she murmured, "When you're working on your own, how do you face the monsters?"

He thought about it. "I, uh, don't think about what might happen, only what I have to do."

"Yes."

"I don't know if I can do that with you." He looked down at her, touching her face lightly, his fingertip following the curve of her brow, feeling the small scar that ran across it.

"You have to." She shifted against him, moving up slightly and he felt a rush of heat where her skin grazed over him. "You have to focus on what you have to do, and shut everything else out."

He felt her hand slide down his chest, smooth over his hip to his flank, and his breath fluttered in his throat. "Like focussing on a conversation no matter what else is going on?"

"Exactly." Her fingers slipped back up his thigh, following the curve to the inside, slowing down as she drew her hand up.

"I don't think I can shut that out either," he struggled to get the words out of his throat, as sensation swamped him.

"Try harder." She leaned close to him, her breath on his lips. "Much harder."

He closed his eyes and forced his physical senses away from his thoughts, letting his body react without it fogging over his mind. It was hard, with what she was doing to him, it was damned near impossible, but he could see how it could be done, how he could do it, isolating each thought, keeping things separate in his mind, in his body. He looked at her, and moved his hand down.

"Let's see how well you do at this."


	27. Chapter 27 One of Those Nights

**Chapter 27**

* * *

"How do we get the attention of the Others?" Sam looked at Ellie curiously. He'd been relieved to see his brother calm and relaxed again when they'd come into the kitchen, his arm around Ellie's shoulders, smiling down at her.

"Well, it occurred to me that they're looking for a Gate. And we happen to have a key to a Gate." She glanced at Dean.

"We may need that," he reminded her mildly. She nodded.

"Oh yeah, we will. I hadn't planned on giving them the key, just letting them know about it."

"A trap?" Sam looked at her. "How is that going to work?"

"Angels and nephilim have no problems crossing the iron rails into the Devil's Gate pentagram. But they do have a thing about hallowed ground. None of them will kill on it. There are five churches within the pentagram. And one of them sits in a small, tight valley, close to the Gate." She walked to the desk in the living room, and picked up a map of the area, carrying it back and spreading it over the table in front of Sam.

"Look at this. I was looking for advantages last night and I think this will work. Strategically speaking it's just going to be your basic ambush." She pointed to the high valley walls. "Pen and the Watchers along here, the hunters – you – in the church. The Others will come in through the mouth, we can get rid of most of them while they're boxed in there. Crossfire from the long range rifles, here, and here. Take out the vehicles. The Colt will kill them, if you can hit the heart directly. Any weapon will work for a short time, enough time to get the heart."

Sam pulled the map closer, looking at the contours of the valley, the placement of the church. He looked up at her.

"Could work." Sam looked over at Dean. "You know about this?"

"Not until now." He leaned on the table, looking over Sam's shoulder at the map. "Those churches haven't been used in a hundred and fifty years, will they keep everyone safe?"

"Hallowed ground is hallowed ground. Once it's been blessed and consecrated it doesn't have an expiry date."

"Sounds like a plan." He looked down into the cup he was carrying, his nose wrinkling at the smell rising from it. "Are you sure you don't want a coffee?"

She took the herbal tea from him. "This is better for me."

He shrugged and passed Sam a cup of coffee, taking his own and sitting down. "What about us? Which Gate do we use?"

"Devil's Gate Reservoir, I think." Ellie sipped her tea. "It's closer, and from reading Jim's journal, I think it'll bypass a lot of levels, save some time."

The temperature in the kitchen dropped suddenly. Ellie shivered as Bobby manifested next to the table.

"You ever going to invite me to your pow-wows or am I just supposed to keep eavesdropping?" he asked sourly.

"You have a standing invitation, Bobby." Ellie drank her tea quickly before the ghost could pull all the heat from it. "Sam's going to need some help making more bullets for the Colt. Those memories come back yet?"

"Uh huh." He looked over the table at the map. "Seems like old times."

"Yeah, let's hope this goes better than that did." Sam glanced at his brother, mentally kicking himself for bringing that up. To his surprise, Dean smiled.

"I'm still going back to Hell, Sam."

* * *

Penemue looked around at the hunters, nodding to those he knew. Behind him, the Watchers sat and stood in small groups, twenty two compared with the two hundred and fifteen Others they would be fighting. He saw Ellie talking to Tricia and made his way over to them.

"So, you have a plan." Pen looked curiously at the tall young woman standing next to Ellie. She was almost tall enough to be considered nephilim, he thought.

"Pen, this is Tricia. She's a hunter." Ellie looked at him. "Tricia, this is Penemue."

The Watcher inclined his head politely. Tricia nodded, feeling out of her depth in the face of the man's cool regard.

"I'll, uh, talk to you later, Ellie." She backed away and went looking for Sam.

"Yes. You said that Danyel had been infiltrating his way into the Others?"

"Slowly, yes." Pen looked down at her as she drew out the Colt from her bag. "What's that?"

"It's a key. To a Gate." She put it on the table beside her. "It's also a powerful weapon, but for our current purposes it's a key."

"You want him to tell the Others that we have a key to a Gate?"

"Yep. We're unscrupulous hunters who want to make a deal. The key for a lifetime of safety, riches, yada yada." She looked at him. "The deal to be made in the pentagram near the Gate."

His eyes narrowed as he looked at the gun. "They're angels, not demons. They don't make deals and they couldn't keep one even if they did."

"True. But do they know that humans know that?" She shrugged. "The hunters will be in the church waiting for them. You will be hidden on the valley slopes surrounding the church. When they come, you'll attack."

"I suppose it has the advantage of being simple." He looked around at the people surrounding them. "We're outnumbered almost ten to one, you know that?"

"Yeah, I know," she said softly. "That's why I thought an ambush would be better than a frontal assault."

He looked at her, not missing the faint edge in her voice. "This isn't your war, Ellie. You could leave, stay safe, have your child and be with the man you love."

She smiled suddenly but there was no humour in it. "Until they find us and kill us? No, it is our war. This is our world. We'll fight."

He nodded slowly. "The key will not be handed over to the Others?"

"No. It won't kill Lucifer, that's been tried. But it will kill the arch-demons. They are not one of the five things it cannot kill." Sam had told her of the conversation with Lucifer about the gun. Jesse was another of those five things. She wondered who or what else was immune.

He tilted his head to one side. "You are taking this into Hell with you?"

She shook her head. "No. We'll go with stealth and do our utmost to avoid being noticed at all. Sam will have the gun. It will also kill the Others." She glanced over to the younger Winchester. "He'll be running this show, Pen. Whatever you need, you can talk to him."

"Does he have the experience that's needed?"

"Yes. He knows what he's doing." She followed his glance to the young man. "And he listens to advice."

"That's something." He looked down at her. "Four and a half thousand years I've been here, I do have some insights."

She smiled at him. "Your wisdom and experience have always been appreciated, Pen."

He snorted and turned away, walking toward Sam.

Ellie put the gun back in her bag and followed him, making sure that both men understood their respective importance to the task.

* * *

Dean loaded the truck after the hunters had left. It would take them a day and a half to get to Sunrise. They'd have a little time to set up. In the meantime, he and Ellie had to get down to Pasadena. That drive would be an all-day effort. They would have to leave soon, do some of it tonight, finish the rest in the morning.

He'd been reading over Jim's journal, after Ellie had pulled it from the ever-growing library to check on the details of Devil's Gate. The journal read more like a diary, detailing things that had happened to friends as well as the hunts and omens and phenomena he'd dealt with. He hadn't realised that Ellen and Jo had never found out the truth about the demon attack that had killed Bill, until he saw the notes in Bobby's handwriting, under the original account given to Jim by his father. The hunting community was full of secrets like that, he thought, half-truths or lies that spread to everyone, making it impossible for any of them to trust one another. They were luckier here, working closely together, it was impossible for secrets like that to develop, to fester.

He walked inside the house, checking they had what they needed. Wrapped in silk and velvet were four bottles of a foul-looking black liquid that Ellie had concocted with Bobby and Pen's help. For the demons of the abyss, she'd told him. A bottle of holy oil lay wrapped next to them. He'd had to change his canvas duffle for an army pack, to leave his hands free for fighting.

Cas had dropped in last night and he'd listened to the angel discussing the levels with Ellie, his head reeling from the talk of the different planes, transdimensional gates and levels, the way each layer of reality had its own rules and appearances and form. He understood why she'd said that he'd never find his way if she wasn't there. He wasn't looking forward to any of it.

Beside her bag lay a graceful recurve bow and a quiver full of arrows. Another thing for the demons of the abyss, apparently. He had a good imagination, and personal experience, but he couldn't imagine what they would be facing, didn't want to remember the details of his time down there. They had the knives. The bow and the poison and the holy oil. And they had each other. He was hoping it would all be enough.

* * *

_**I-5 California**_

Dean woke abruptly, the fragments of his dream disappearing as his eyes opened, and he squinted against the deep gold sunshine flooding onto his face. He lifted his arm, blocking the setting sun, and looked around.

"Where are we?"

"Uh … just passed Redding about ten minutes ago." Ellie glanced at him.

"Do you want me to drive for awhile?"

"I thought we'd stop at Red Bluff. Get a room, get a good night's sleep. Might be the last chance for a while."

"Yeah. Okay." He rubbed his eyes, yawning widely.

They couldn't speak of what they were about to do, he found. It was just impossible. Ellie said it was a waste of time energy to speculate anyway. They knew what they had to accomplish and there was nothing to be gained from going over it any further. So they talked of Sam and Castiel, of the towns they passed through, of childhood memories and hunting memories, of music and movies, anything that came to mind and was rooted in the mundane, the everyday.

"What about names?" Dean had surprised her with that one. She'd looked at him warily.

"What about them?"

"For the baby, shouldn't we be coming up with some names?" He'd looked uncomfortable but determined and she'd had to work hard to hide her grin.

"I take it you've got something in mind?" she'd asked.

"Uh, no, not really." He'd looked out the window. "Uh, unless of course, you know, you like, uh Bobby for a boy?"

"I do like Bobby for a boy," she'd agreed readily, and he'd ducked his head, hiding his reaction from her.

* * *

She smiled again now as she remembered the conversation. She didn't know why but she was always surprised that he'd been thinking about these things, baby names, and where to live, things that were to do with their future. She didn't think about the future, not being sure that they would be alive in five days' time, but she found it reassuring that he was. The thought brought up the memory of another conversation, a more recent one.

* * *

"I like John for a boy too." She'd looked at him and seen some indefinable emotion cross his face before he'd turned away.

"You going to tell me what's going on, Dean?"

He'd looked back at her, the expression gone, and shrugged. "I don't want to name our kid after my Dad."

"Why not?"

"He wasn't the sort of father that I'd give that kind of remembrance to, okay?"

She hadn't wanted to push him but his feelings about his father had been swinging wildly for the last couple of years, and she had the feeling that he didn't really know how to get it settled in his own head.

"I thought he did a pretty good job, given everything that was going on." It was a like a red flag to a bull, and it had worked.

"You weren't there. You don't know." His brows had been drawn and his tone a warning against pursuing the subject any further.

"Tell me what he did, Dean, that was so unforgivable?" She'd ignored the look and the tone and he'd scowled at her.

"He raised us to be hunters. He cursed us with that upbringing, so neither of us could have what we wanted."

"He was trying to make sure you stayed alive, Dean. And you weren't always unhappy with the life of a hunter." She'd been very careful to keep her voice quiet, her tone reasonable. He'd always responded best to rational discussion.

He'd looked away, unwilling to argue that point. "He left us, when we needed him the most."

"He gave up his life so that you could live." She'd known how hard that would hit him, but he wasn't listening yet.

He'd turned to her then, his face twisting in sudden anguish. "I didn't want that. I didn't ask for that. I was ready to die when he made that choice, without asking me!"

"I know." She'd known that argument. "Doesn't change anything. He did what he could to save his son."

It'd had been hard to keep the conversation on track. She'd wanted to ask him if he thought that their present wasn't worth that sacrifice on his father's part. But that really would have derailed it. He was able, in some strange way, to remain bitter about his father's actions, without seeing the long term effects of it at all.

"He put too much on me. I made so many mistakes because there was just too much on me," he'd said that much more quietly, and his emotions had been very close to the surface.

And that she hadn't been able to argue. The load was the load though, and he'd carried it, no matter how hard it had been.

"You got through it all, Dean. You wouldn't be the person you are now if things hadn't happened the way they did." She'd wondered then who he might have been, someone less driven, someone less caring? Someone she wouldn't have loved?

He'd looked at her then, an almost furtive look. "I wouldn't be so fucking broken, you mean."

"You're a long, long way from being broken." She'd smiled at him, a troubled smile that he still thought of himself that way. "The man I love with all my heart isn't broken. He's just not sure that he's allowed to be happy."

* * *

She sighed. He'd taken some of it on board; she'd seen that in the weeks that followed. But he was a long way from being clear. And he hadn't yet admitted to the thing that had hurt the most about his father.

She saw the motel a mile out of the town, and took the off ramp, pulling up in front of the office. The sunset was now just a long red line along the western Pacific horizon.

The room was comfortable, a bit larger than normal. They unloaded the gear and set up the defences, tossed a coin for first shower. Ellie won. She grinned at him and disappeared into the bathroom, stripping off her clothes and leaving them in a heap on the floor. The water was hot and the pressure was strong.

She heard the soft rumble of the glass shower door a few minutes later and looked over her shoulder, into a pair of green eyes.

"Thought I'd try and help the planet, save on water," he said, his gaze travelling down her body as she turned to him. "Do my bit, you know?"

Ellie tipped her head back, letting the water run down through her hair, as he stepped into the shower with her, then looked at him from under the spray. "Sure, saving the planet, that's your thing, right?"

He grinned, stepping toward and taking the soap from her hand. "Let me help you with that."

* * *

_**Wendall, Idaho**_

Sam tossed restlessly on the mattress, unable to get to sleep no matter what he did. He looked at the clock for the fourteenth time and saw that another minute had passed since he'd looked the last time. He lay back, staring at the ceiling.

The knock on the door was soft, and for a moment he didn't move, not sure that he'd heard it. It came again, and he threw the covers back irritably and got up.

Tricia stood outside, her jacket pulled tight around her.

"What's wrong?" He looked past her, to either side, expecting to see the others.

"Nothing. I couldn't sleep, and judging by the banging on the walls in here, I thought you might be having the same problem." She walked into the room past him.

"Uh … oh." He closed the door and turned around, abruptly aware that he was standing there in his boxers. "Sorry, I didn't realise …"

"It's okay. It wasn't what you were doing that was keeping me awake." She drew a bottle of whiskey from under the jacket and put it on the table. "Nightcap?"

He felt his eyebrows rising. "Uh, yeah, sure."

"Glasses? Or do you just want to swig from the bottle?"

"Uh … yeah, I'll get some … glasses." He walked to the kitchenette, running his hand through his hair, wondering if this was a dream. He put the two on the table and sat down, watching as she slipped free of the big jacket, and poured a couple of inches into each glass.

"Do you want to get drunk?" He looked at his glass.

"No." She smiled, clinking her glass gently against his. "Just relaxed."

"Uh huh." He swallowed a mouthful and realised that the close-fitting, long-sleeved outfit she was wearing was covered in small butterflies. And made of some sort of soft cotton. And was, in fact, her pyjamas.

"How did Dean meet Ellie?"

He blinked, not expecting the question. "Uh, actually we met her, sort of, when she was about ten years old. We found her in a cabin after an elemental attacked and killed her parents."

"Oh, so there's a long history?" Tricia looked over the rim of her glass at him.

"Yeah. I guess. She was a friend for a while, a long while, before they admitted that there was anything else between them." Sam's mouth twisted, remembering his brother's odd, defensive behaviour, for months after the hiatus they'd had. Dean'd told him that he'd hunted with Ellie in New York over the time. He'd derided the idea that he felt anything more for her than friendship. It'd been another six months before they'd seen her again, and the two of them became … more involved. He looked down into his glass.

"They seem really good together." Tricia watched the expressions playing over Sam's face.

"Yeah." He looked up at her. "They are."

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Uh no." He looked away, uncomfortable. "I, uh … there's not a lot of time … uh, and …"

"Yeah." She swallowed a mouthful of whiskey and looked at him. "Look, this is just going to seem really forward, and all the rest of it, but I like you and – well, I don't want to spend tonight alone."

Sam suddenly understood the exact meaning of the word 'thunderstruck', a word that always seemed a bit melodramatic to him. But no, it wasn't overly dramatic. It was quite correct. As in that's what he was. Thunderstruck. He hadn't seen this coming, hadn't even thought that she was even slightly … well, interested.

The silence stretched out and Tricia looked up at him, a tinge of red rising along her neck.

"Sorry. Not a problem, I totally understand. I – goodnight." She stood up and swung around, grabbing her jacket from the back of the chair, her long strides carrying her to the door before Sam could say anything.

"Wait – no, uh, don't go."

She waited at the door, feeling the heat in her cheeks, listening to him getting up behind her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think you were – that is, it didn't occur to me that you might, well, feel that – like that."

He took a deep breath, put his hand on her shoulder, turning her back to him. "Usually I'm pretty articulate. You took me by surprise." He stepped closer to her, looking down at her, at the flush of red that filled her cheeks, at her lips that were slightly parted now. He had memories of doing this all really smoothly, back in the days when his soul had been AWOL and he hadn't given a damn.

He bent his head and kissed her, straightening a little as she rose to her toes, her arms going around his neck. Even that was a novelty; he'd had to bend nearly double to kiss Becky. His hands were chastely on her waist, and he let them slide down to her hips, pulling her closer to him. Her mouth was sweet and he felt his heart stutter as she pressed against him, taking a step back, pulling her with him.

They'd made it back to the bed without crashing to the floor, and Sam was kissing her neck when a sudden thought occurred to him. He lifted his head and looked into her face.

"This isn't – this isn't a last night on earth thing? Is it?"

She looked at him, eyes half-closed and dazed. "No. Not really. Maybe. A little bit."

A second thought popped into his head. "But it's not – that – you're not -?"

She looked at him for a long moment, then her expression changed to one of horrified understanding. "No. No, I'm not. That's not it. Not at all. No."

"Okay." He let out his breath. "Okay then."

* * *

_**Red Bluff, California**_

Ellie stretched out and opened her eyes. The room was still dim. She looked at the clock on the nightstand. Six a.m.

She was very aware of her skin. She couldn't remember feeling this aware of her skin before. Maybe once before. That memory made it worse. She looked at his back, she'd cut out the stitches a week ago and only a small red line showed where the glass had gone in. She lifted her hand and ran her fingertip along it, lightly. He had a lot of scars, not as many as she did, she thought, but then Cas' touch had twice healed his body completely. Still there were scars. The worst ones were on the inside, where they couldn't be readily seen. They showed up, every now and again in his eyes, in the way he reacted to some things, didn't react at all to others.

She let her fingers trail down his spine, not so lightly as to tickle. He rolled onto his back, and she looked over the scars on his chest, his stomach, her hand following her gaze absently. Dean huffed a slow exhale, eyelids lifting slightly. Did she want to wake him?

Yes. Actually, she did.

He came to awareness on the tail end of a long, soft moan, still resonating in his throat, as another wave of pleasure rolled over and through him. His hips lifted as the muscles of his back and legs contracted, and he could feel the silken curtain of her hair spread over his stomach, the strands sliding over his skin, adding to the cacophony of sensation.

It was the sight of her that tipped him over, as much as the feelings that were building, like a dam filled to overflowing. The sight of her mouth on him, and the flick of her tongue, and that was it, he was gone.

His heart was slowing down when he realised she hadn't moved, wasn't stopping.

"Whoa. Hey." He shifted up onto his elbows.

"You're young." She looked up at him, smiling.

"Not that young. I'm in, but it's gonna take me some time." He leaned forward, kissing her as she came up to him. "Uh, what's going on?"

She made a face. "Hormones, blood flow, increased sensitivity."

He smiled slowly. "You want me."

She laughed. "Yes. All the time."

"All you had to do was say." He pushed her down and covered her mouth with his, his hand slipping down her body, brushing over her breast, thumb rubbing over her nipple as she pushed against him, the sharp inhale of her breath sending a shiver through him.

He looked into her face, and her expression, almost stormy with desire, lit him up instantly. He slid his hand down her body, over the bump and between her legs, watching her face as his fingers slid through the folds, dipping into her, and she arched up, driving her hips against him.

"Ellie." He breathed, his heart accelerating again.

She opened her eyes and looked into his, shaking her head slightly. "Not slow, not tender, Dean. Hard and fast and deep."

That had to be the quickest comeback ever, he thought incoherently as he rolled over her, her legs wrapping around him, and he pushed into her hot, welcoming wetness … hard and fast and deep.

* * *

"Ellie?" He lay on his back, his body warm and loose from their lovemaking, his arms wrapped around her, her hair soft over his shoulder and chest.

"Mmm?"

"I didn't really ask you if you wanted a family."

He felt her cheek lift, where it lay against his chest, as she smiled. "It's a bit late to worry about that, isn't it?"

"Are you happy? I mean, about, you know."

She rolled to the side, shifting onto her elbow. "What do you think?"

He shook his head. "No, tell me. I need to hear you say it."

She leaned against him, and he shifted his arm. "I'm unbelievably happy."

She looked down for a moment, a slight smile lifting a corner of her mouth. "Lucifer is in the power of the arch-demons, and they're probably working out how to take the planet by force before Heaven can respond, the Others are already in the country, and our friends have gone to fight them, we have to raise the most powerful archangel from the ninth level of Hell … but every morning I wake up next to you, and every night, your arms are around me when I go to sleep, and inside of me, our child is growing, yours and mine, and I've honestly never been this happy."

She looked at his wide-eyed expression with a gentle smile. "Are you happy, Dean?"

He let his breath out in a long exhale. "Come on, what I can say now that's going to top that?"

She laughed softly. "Tell me."

"I've got what I wanted most, what I didn't even know I wanted, until you gave it to me, Ellie." He looked into her eyes, not knowing how to tell her, how to describe what it felt like, to have that dream, not even a dream, a wish, more hidden than any other, become reality, become his life.

"There are times when I hate what we're doing, because it's a risk, because I could lose you," he stopped, looking away for a moment. "But mostly, I know I wouldn't change one thing in my life, not even to save Mom, not even for Sam, because everything that happened brought me to here, right now, this moment, with you."

* * *

_**I-80 E, Wyoming**_

Sam glanced across at Tricia, sleeping against the passenger door. They hadn't gotten much sleep last night. He was still a little surprised at the events of the previous evening. Surprised at himself. He'd gotten by on so little for so long now that he felt as if he'd forgotten what it could be like.

_Yeah well, put it away until this part's over_, he told him firmly. _Don't need distractions right now_.

Far ahead on the road, he could see Twist's truck, staying steady in the same lane. Behind him, he knew, Garth was driving Marcus' four wheel drive, with the Watcher riding shotgun. That must be a fun ride, he thought with a smile. The nephilim, Danyel, had left to find the Others, to offer the hook.

He considered the powers of these fallen angels and their children. He'd read what little was around on them, both the biblical references and the unsanctioned ancient texts. The _irin we-qadishin_, they'd been called, the Aramaic words referring to both watchers and holy ones together. Fallen deliberately, they didn't have the power of Heaven behind them, but that didn't mean they weren't more powerful than an ordinary man, although he wasn't sure of how exactly.

Anna had fallen, had torn out her Grace. He got the feeling from Penemue that wasn't the case with the Others, or with the Watchers. There were confusing references in the texts about cutting off wings. He wasn't sure of that either, popular fiction had made a lot of that in the last few years. Pen had told him that they could hear Heaven. Could hear the angels talking, sometimes could see what they saw. He wondered if Cas was keeping good security up there, making sure that he used a cone-of-silence or something angelic along those lines. If he wasn't, the Others would know that the Host was coming for them.

His thoughts veered to his brother and what Dean and Ellie were attempting to do. He wondered if he should start mourning now. It seemed an impossible task. His memories of the Pit were violent and fragmented, he couldn't remember the details of what it had looked like, only how it had felt. And those he kept locked down as much as he could. He had one clear memory of his half-brother in there. Michael had withdrawn for a moment and he remembered Adam's face, the expression in his eyes as he'd looked around, face slack with shock. That was it. He didn't think that Adam would be sane if they got him out.

Tricia stirred and opened her eyes. She looked around as she straightened up, then back to Sam.

"Sorry about that." She yawned. "Where are we?"

"About eighty miles from Sunrise. We should have enough time to get set up before dark." Sam watched the road, feeling suddenly shy about looking at her.

"Will Danyel be able to let us know when they're coming?"

"Pen said he would." Sam glanced in the rearview mirror, watching the road behind them. "We'll have to trust him on that."

She slid across the seat, and laid a hand on his thigh. He jumped a little, glancing at her.

"Don't take it so seriously, Sam. It was just sex, not like we're engaged or anything." She grinned at him and shifted back.

"Yeah, uh, of course."

* * *

_**I-5 California**_

Dean looked at the traffic flowing to either side. Los Angeles, he thought sourly.

"Take Ventura Freeway." Ellie looked ahead of them. "Should be coming up soon."

He nodded and changed lanes, slowing a little to accommodate the speed around him. He saw the curving turn and took it. "How far are we?"

"Not far, a few miles. We take the Foothill Freeway in a few minutes, heading north."

"How do people live here?"

Ellie smiled, looking around at the tract housing and the concrete, the patches of green amidst the buildings. "It's all relative to what they think is important, Dean. I thought you were quite fond of suburbia?"

He curled his lip. "Not like this."

They took the Foothill north, getting off before the wash and turning left onto Oak Drive. The gravelled access road was only a hundred yards further on. They'd left most of their gear back in Oregon, bringing only what they could carry. If all went according to plan, their exit would be a long way from here and they wouldn't be coming back for the truck.

The wide scrubby wash was deserted in the late afternoon sunshine. It had an odd, hollow silence to it, as if even the birds didn't come here. Ellie crossed the stream and began to walk along the sandy bank, her head bowed over the EMF in her hand. Dean followed her, looking up at the buildings and houses that were perched high above the arroyo. His father had walked here, with Bill Harvelle, he thought suddenly. Along this bank, to a Gate that couldn't be closed, but that didn't stand open all the time.

Ellie had stopped, the EMF's volume turned down to avoid attracting unnecessary attention. But the needle in the gauge was flat to the red line. She looked ahead of her, turning her head from side to side, trying to pick up the distortion she could feel with her peripheral vision. Dean stopped behind her, and felt a shiver run down his spine. He could feel a sense of wrongness here, close by. It was hotter here than it had been a few feet away, and still, as if the air movement had been blocked by something.

He turned his head to look at Ellie and caught the movement in the corner of his eye, a flickering movement, like a curtain blowing in a wind. His head snapped back but there was nothing there, the faint shimmer of heat rising from the pale sand and gravel was the only thing his eyes could detect.

"It's here." Ellie looked down at the EMF. "Not quite open."

They felt the warm wind on their faces at the same time, carrying the smell of brimstone on it, faint cries barely discernible against the noise of the traffic on the freeway. Ellie grabbed Dean's hand, and ran. Dean followed her, his eyes widening slightly as she seemed to vanish in front of him, her hand still tightly gripped around his, then he was through and falling, Ellie disappearing under him, and the smell of sulphur was much stronger, the heat drying his skin and eyes and lungs, and the light a deep, flickering carnelian, pulsing slowly.


	28. Chapter 28 Ambush At Sunrise

**Chapter 28**

* * *

_**Sunrise, Wyoming**_

Sam turned onto the dirt road and slowed the car right down. Ahead he could see the dust raised by Twist's truck, and he hung back, not sure that the suspension would cope with the corrugations and holes if he went through them too fast.

They bounced over the railway tracks, and turned right, following the cloud of dust deeper into Colt's pentagram. The church was on the north-west point, the rails enclosing it laid along the flattish ground just at the foot of the rising slopes. He glanced into the mirror, seeing a cloud of dust rising behind him. Beyond that, as the road twisted and turned, he could see another one further back. Everyone present and accounted for, he thought.

The Colt was locked in the trunk. Bobby had shown him how to make more bullets for it, as Ruby had taught Bobby. He was still a little nervous about the damned thing here, so close to the Gate that it opened, but they could use it, and Dean and Ellie wouldn't be able to, not and keep their presence in Hell a secret.

He followed Twist around a wide patch of mesquite, and down the mouth of the canyon. He could see the church roof now, the dull gleam of the sunlight on the tin and lead flashing. Relayed via Frank, Pen had told them that Danyel's hook had been taken.

The Others were on their way.

* * *

_**Second level of Hell.**_

Dean heard Ellie's grunt the second before he hit the ground and the same noise exploded from him. He rolled over onto his knees and saw her, getting to her feet, rubbing her arm.

"Quite a long drop." She winced as she twisted her arm to look at the elbow. It was missing a couple of layers of skin and oozing blood, but the joint was working properly. She picked up her bag and pulled it over her shoulder, looking around.

"You alright?" He looked at her arm. She nodded and turned, looking down the rocky path that led between the high walls of volcanic rock, laughing softly.

"It was worth it. We're on the Second level."

Dean looked around. "Uh, so how many levels do we need to go down before we get to the cavern where Crowley was holding you?"

"We're a long way further down than that. That was near the top of the First level." She started walking down the path. "We shouldn't have much trouble with this one, it'll be the Third level that's going to be a bitch."

He followed her down, resettling the pack over his shoulders. He couldn't imagine how – or why – she knew about these levels.

"Ellie, what were you doing down here before?"

"I was scouting the levels to find a way to get you out." She glanced back at him. "I only made it as far as the Fourth level before I found out you'd been raised."

He shook his head. "You're kidding me, right?" He looked around the tunnel they were moving through. "How'd you even find way a through – and back?"

She smiled a little. "Breadcrumbs."

"What?"

"I left a trail, so that I could find the way out." She shrugged. "Not actual breadcrumbs, the twenty-first century version."

She turned left suddenly, abandoning the downward path for a level tunnel. He stopped at the junction and looked down. He would have kept going down, he knew. Obviously that wasn't the right way. He sighed and turned left, extending his stride a little to catch up with her.

"Why?" He asked her softly as he came up behind her. She slowed a little.

"Well, I wasn't going to let you rot down here," she hedged, peering ahead.

The tunnel was getting narrower and darker, and was no longer straight, twisting and turning so that their line of vision was only a hundred yards or so. She didn't want to use the flashlight, its light was too alien here, would be noticed too easily, but she'd have to have some light soon because she could only see blackness ahead.

"Do you have your lighter?" She knelt on the ground and rummaged through her bag, finding the tiny oil lamp down near the bottom. She set it on the ground beside her, taking the lighter that Dean held out, and lighting it. The small flame barely lit the space immediately around her. She handed him back the lighter and got to her feet, swinging the bag back over her shoulder and holding the lamp out. It was enough, they could see the rock under their feet, the shape of the walls. And it was a natural light, it wouldn't call attention to itself.

Dean looked at her profile in the faint yellow glow. "Would you have been able to get me out, if you'd found me?"

"No. I hadn't found out how to do that." She walked a little faster, not sure why she didn't want have this conversation with him. He lengthened his stride.

"Uh, why didn't you let us know, when I got out, that you were alright and everything?"

She sighed. "I didn't find out that you'd been raised until six months afterwards. I was in Egypt. I met Penemue. He told me. When I got back to the States, none of the numbers that I had for you were working. And I had to get Travis out of danger before I could do anything else."

He could hear pain held tightly behind the clipped words. He remembered her face, when he'd hit the lightswitch in the bathroom, and the light had come on behind him, lighting up her face in the boy's apartment, remembered clearly the look in her eyes, an expression he hadn't been able to decipher then, but that he knew now.

The implication shocked him. He glanced at her face, seeing the tiny lines of tension around her mouth. As much as he wanted to ask her now, to confirm what he knew, he couldn't. It was the wrong time and definitely the wrong place to have this discussion. He filed it away unwillingly, and followed her through the tunnels in silence.

* * *

_**Sunrise, Wyoming**_

Garth sat on the boulder, the binoculars held to his eyes, and watched the road. When the first puff of dust appeared he felt his heart jump. He waited for the second and was rewarded with the sight of it a few minutes later. He put the binoculars back in their case and slid off the rock, walking fast toward the church.

"They're here."

Sam turned to look at him, nodding. "Let's do it."

Tricia and Dwight climbed to the high windows at the front of the church, carrying automatic rifles. The range was around two hundred yards, they were responsible for taking out the vehicles and picking off whoever they could. Garth and Twist picked up long range rifles and headed to opposite sides of the canyon, climbing up through the rocks to get settled in among the Watchers. The cross-fire would take out a few more, even the odds, Sam thought as he watched them climbing. He had the Colt and an M-40, he'd start spraying once the vehicles were down, and hopefully keep enough of them down so that the Watchers could do their butcher's work.

The Watchers and nephilim were ready, hidden among the brush and scrub, the rocks and boulders of the canyon, waiting.

Sam slid the Colt's long barrel through his belt, where it was clearly obvious. The machine gun he slung over his shoulder, the gun lying flat against his shoulder blade and flank. He took a deep breath as the clouds of dust drew nearer, able to see the vehicles now, several cars and pickups, followed by a half dozen larger trucks. He had a feeling that the Others would be armed as heavily as they were, and he tapped the Kevlar vest that lay under his shirt for reassurance. Frank had acquired several of them from an old friend in law enforcement. Pen didn't know how much experience the Others had with modern field weapons, they were just hoping they'd go for the body shots.

The leading cars slowed suddenly as they took in the closed nature of the canyon. Sam watched from the church doorway, his heart pounding. _Come on in, no one here but us hunters_, he thought uneasily. _Don't get cold feet now_.

They almost stopped there, five hundred yards out from the church. Someone in the cars must have felt confident enough that the natural formation wasn't a trap though, as they slowly trundled along the road, moving deeper into the throat of the canyon. Sam let out his breath in a relieved sigh. The leader pulled over behind Twist's truck, turning off the engine and waiting for the dust to settle before getting out.

The man who got out of the car was tall, taller than Sam. He had broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and long legs, walking toward the church door with an almost feline suppleness. Sam looked at him, seeing deep red hair flaming in the bright sunshine, pale skin unmarked by either the years of time or any scar or blemish. He straightened as the leader, for it had to be the leader, stopped in front of him, golden-grey eyes narrowed against the glare of the light on the church's bleached exterior boards.

"You have a key, I believe." The voice was smooth, deep, cultured. Sam nodded, looking out over the man's head as the rest of the vehicles came to a stop, filling the area in front of the church.

"I do." Sam looked at him. "And a long list of the things we want for it."

"I am Gadriel. Where is the Gate that this key opens?"

Sam pointed south east. "You drove past it. It sits at the centre of the railways. That's why we're meeting here."

Gadriel's gaze dropped to the gun pushed through Sam's belt. "You know, you have no need for weapons with us. We are not here to fight."

Sam smiled, looking down at the Colt and pulling it out of the belt slowly. "This isn't a weapon, Gadriel. It's the key."

The angel looked up at him, surprise animating his features. "Then let's complete the transaction." He took a step forward.

Sam looked at him, seeing something other than friendliness glinting at the back of the vivid eyes. "Yeah. Let's."

He raised his hand, running it through his hair.

The resulting volley of gunshots was shocking in the quiet valley, but was quickly drowned out by the first explosion, as one of the big trucks took a hit to the fuel tank and ignited, the rear end lifting high into the air with the force and flames spreading over the timber and canvas frame, a dozen Others immolated instantly.

Gadriel had spun around, falling to the ground, drawing an automatic from behind him as the gunfire began. Now he looked up at Sam, the 9mm aimed at him, his eyes widening as Sam cocked the Colt, aiming the barrel for the angel's heart.

"Sorry, it is also a weapon," he said softly, pulling the trigger. The bullet hit Gadriel in the heart and Sam watched as blue lightning discharged deep with the body, crackling and spreading through the torso and limbs, filling the unseeing eyes with iridescent blue fire.

In the open ground between the ridges, bullets flew, a deadly crossfire between Garth and Twist as they kept the Others pinned tightly to their vehicles, and one by one Tricia or Dwight's bullets found their marks, hitting the engines and gas tanks, the trucks and cars and pickups burning, sending billowing clouds of black smoke into the still air.

* * *

_**Second Level of Hell**_

Ellie walked steadily in a single direction, although it was difficult to work out which direction that was. The tunnels they were in twisted and turned, rising and falling, with openings along their walls. It was a maze, Dean thought as he caught a glimpse of their reflected lamplight on the slick stone of a tunnel to his right, the sight nearly giving him a heart attack until he realised what it was.

"You know how to get out of this?" he asked quietly as they walked. Ellie nodded. She was counting steps and turns and seconds and conversation was out of the question.

They'd had to stop twice, hearing muttered voices in the tunnels around them, Ellie shielding the light and crouching immediately. He wasn't sure if they'd been demons or souls, but they'd sounded close and they waited a long time before they started moving again.

Occasionally a tunnel seemed to spark recognition in him, nothing concrete, just a sense that he'd seen a particular bend before, or the steps leading down to another section were somehow familiar. He was careful of prodding those memories. Even if they'd been able to help them find their way through the maze, he knew that Hell was a different place to a soul than it was to an ensouled body. Souls had no need of paths or tunnels or stairs. He could lead them the wrong way with his memories; he hadn't come down here in his flesh.

Ellie slowed as they reached a broader junction, and the light brightened ahead. She put out the lamp, and set it down with her bag, dropping to her stomach and crawling along the last few feet of the tunnel they were in to peer cautiously around the corner at floor level. She watched for a few minutes then returned to him the way she'd gone, moving backwards at a surprising speed, her body supported on her hands and toes. She sat up, and felt the lamp, tucking it back into her bag. She leaned close to him, her voice just a breath against his ear.

"The first of the caverns. Full of demons and souls, I think. We'll have to go around."

He nodded and slipped the straps of the pack back over his shoulders, rising to a half-crouch and following back the way they'd come, as she searched for a tunnel to take them around.

It seemed to take hours to get around the cavern, and he watched her patience with the dead ends and wrong turns with an amazement that bordered on awe. Whatever frustrations and pressures she was feeling were completely hidden. She faced each new obstacle with a neutral expression and simply turned around and found another way. Hell's time was different anyway, he thought, but he couldn't sense any feeling of needing to hurry in her, she moved through the darkness and the tunnels steadily and silently, her senses alert. He wondered briefly if those skills had been learned, or if she'd been born with them.

Watching her, following her, he found himself steadying as well. He was learning to distance himself from his feelings, focus his attention, his concentration, and his senses on what they were doing at each moment, without thought for the future or memory of the past.

When they finally came around through the tunnels to the other side of the cavern, he felt stronger, both physically and mentally, as if through some strange alchemic process he'd become someone else. Ellie stopped a short way down the passage and passed him a canteen of water, and he drank deeply and passed it back to her, the action feeling completely normal, familiar, a feeling that they'd done this before, the two of them, hunted through the halls of darkness in a place that wasn't supposed to exist. He shook his head slightly at the disorientation of the thought and shut it out.

"We can go faster now," Ellie said softly. She returned the canteen to her bag and began to walk again, her stride longer and less cautious. Dean wondered why the danger had lessened but couldn't be bothered to ask. It was enough for him that she thought so.

The tunnel they were in had narrowed slightly, and was definitely leading downward. His feet braced against the incline, the muscles of his legs and back tightening. He could feel a slight movement of air against his face, through his hair and he slowed a little, wary of what they were approaching.

The cavern, when they emerged from the tunnel, was big, and completely empty. In the middle, a huge arch of rock stood, natural or carved into the shape, he couldn't tell. Ellie walked straight for it, either uncaring of who saw her crossing the open space, or confident that there was no one there. He followed her, looking around them, the tunnel openings and caves riddling the walls, reminding him of the interior of an ant's nest. He turned back to see her stride under the arch, and vanish.

* * *

_**Sunrise, Wyoming.**_

The area in front of the church was a wasteland, burned out vehicles and still burning ones spread across it, bodies littering the ground. Garth and Twist had ceased fire at Sam's signal and the Watchers came down the hillside, their blades winking and flashing in the dying sunlight, to finish the job.

It was one thing to have someone tell you that an angel or their offspring could not be killed until the heart was taken, it was another to realise the truth of it for yourself, as the bodies that were perforated with bullets began to move, rising from the ground, burned or shot or crushed, and looking around for their enemies. Sam leapt back as a man he'd been about to step over reached for him, the skin of his body crackling and black, his eyes vivid in the burned face. The Colt fired once, into the heart, and the man fell again, but Sam pulled the machete from his belt and moved a lot more cautiously as he continued his reconnaissance of the area.

Looking around he thought that perhaps half of the Others had been killed outright in the attack, chests burned out completely or pulverised in the hail of bullets. That cut the odds against them considerably, but still left a big number for them to deal with. He slid the Colt back through his belt and hefted the machete, walking toward the nearest and pushing his sensibilities and doubts aside as he swung the blade down and cut through the ribcage, plunging his hand into the hole to rip the heart free of the chest. The body arched up as he removed the heart, the eyes flying open, staring into his, then the light died out of them and the flesh was still. Sam dropped the heart onto the ground and threw up convulsively. He stood for a moment, spitting and wiping his mouth then his jaw tightened as he moved onto the next one.

Garth and Twist came down the hillside, their long hunting knives in their hands. Garth didn't see the angel who rose up behind him, its arm snaking around his neck, inexorable pressure against the spine. Tricia's rifle cracked from the church window and the angel released its hold, falling to the ground with half the skull missing where the big calibre bullet had exited. He dropped to his knees and stabbed through the ribs, cutting out the heart and tossing it aside as he rubbed his neck. He turned and waved to the church briefly, before following Twist into the maze of vehicles.

More and more of the remaining angels and nephilim were rising and the hunt became an eerily silent game of cat and mouse as the Watchers moved through the wreckage, and the angels fought back. Sam ducked under the wild swing of one, his machete slicing upwards as he stepped close. The point hit bone and flexed sickening in his hand, twisting off the ribs and he realised he was too close to get clear as the angel gripped his arm, the fingers disappearing into the flesh and breaking the bone. The scream that tore out of Sam's throat echoed around the hills, and the angel didn't hear the footsteps behind him, as a long black blade plunged through its back, and a darkly tanned hand followed, tearing the heart from its chest. Pen threw the heart aside as the angel collapsed, and prised the dead fingers out of Sam's arm, touching the wound as the two ends of the bone came into line, and fusing them. It wasn't like Castiel's healing, with the power of Heaven's souls behind it. The holes from the fingers were still visible in his muscle, but the break had been healed and the pain had lessened. Sam stood up, and nodded his thanks to the Watcher. The two of them continued together, as the others paired up instinctively as well, and the number of corpses mounted.

* * *

_**Third Level of Hell.**_

Dean stared at the arch in disbelief for a long moment. Then he sprinted toward it, passing under – and stopping. He hung in blackness without end, unable to feel, unable to breathe, unable to move – then he was through, tripping as the ground dropped beneath his feet slightly, the levels between the two sides differing by a few inches. Ellie stood waiting, catching him as he stopped in front of her.

"What the hell was that?" He looked down into her face, aware that sweat was rolling off him, his heart was hammering, his lungs pumping like bellows.

"Transdimensional doorway." She gestured behind him and he turned to look, seeing nothing there but the smoothed face of a rock wall. "Cas told us about them, remember? We crossed down to the Third level."

He looked back at her and nodded slowly. "Sure. Of course."

"It gets better."

"I can't wait."

He sucked in a deep breath, feeling his pulse slow down, his chest stop heaving, and looked around. The cavern they stood in was big, maybe a thousand yards across, the ceiling invisible although the space was filled with a greyish light. He stared at the monstrous network of cables that was strung high above the ground, wires that criss-crossed overhead, with hooks and chains hanging here and there from them. He felt a deep shiver travel up through his body, and he knew he'd seen this before. He shut down his thoughts, not wanting to know anything else about it.

"How is it we're alone here? We're not seeing anything, demons or souls," he asked her just to keep talking, to keep from thinking … or remembering.

"We're kind of at a junction between the planes. The souls are here, all around us, and sometimes the demons have been around too … but they can't quite see us, and we can't quite see them, because we're flesh and blood and they're not."

That was truly creepy, he thought, looking around the empty cavern, careful not to look up again.

"Come on." Ellie turned away, heading across the cavern to a wide tunnel mouth on the far side. Dean followed her, his ears hearing faint whispers around them, catching small movements in his peripheral vision. _Come on, you weren't freaking out about this until she told you, pretend there's nothing there_, he told himself.

They passed through ten similar caverns, all empty yet not, all with the same nets of wire far above the ground, all slightly tilted, leading down. He thought in real terms they might have travelled about twenty miles since they started, five or six hours of walking, but in Hell's terms it was impossible to work out. They could have been walking for weeks for all he knew. He was thirsty occasionally but hadn't felt hunger since they'd come in. He wondered what that meant. His muscles were sore and aching from the unaccustomed distances, but he didn't feel tired enough to sleep, or sleepy at all. Of course the fact that they were sneaking through Hell on a mission to save an archangel might have had something to do with that.

At the end of the last cavern, the tunnel mouth was smaller, the passage it led into winding and quite steep. Phosphorescent creatures clung to the damp walls, invertebrates and funghi, mostly. Here and there he saw larger creatures, or the movement of larger creatures, but he couldn't get a good look at them, glimpsing only a leg or a tail as they scurried away from their footsteps. None of them looked normal, but then he was in Hell and what was normal down here anyway?

The passage came out into a vast space, almost as if they'd emerged to the outside. Ellie stopped, feeling warm winds rising and swirling around them, lifting her hair and cooling the sweat from her body. She looked at the darkness above them, and the black void ahead of them and felt her heart sinking.

Dean looked around, the hairs on the back of his neck rising in response to the black void that seemed to surround them. Very distantly, he could hear things in the dark.


	29. Chapter 29 Adoian Baltim

**Chapter 29**

* * *

_**Adoian Baltim.**_

Ellie knelt beside him, lifting the bow and quiver from her back, pulling out the bottles of black liquid from her bag. She undid the first bottle very carefully, and pulled an arrow from the quiver, dipping the slender iron head into the mouth of the bottle and holding it there for several seconds before she pulled it out and repeated the action with the next one. The poisoned arrows were laid out to dry on the rock, and she sealed the remaining bottle, stowing it back in her bag, getting to her feet.

She gestured to Dean to turn around, and pulled two thick lengths of wood from the outside of his pack. He'd wanted to ask her about them back in Oregon, but had forgotten about them until now. She laid them on the ground and drew two pieces of coarsely woven cloth from her bag, wrapping each piece around the top of the lengths, then poured a small amount of holy oil over them, soaking the cloth and the wood underneath. The holy oil went back into the bag, and she handed him the torch, putting her finger to her lips when he opened his mouth to ask about it.

She replaced the dry arrows in the quiver and settled her bag over her shoulder, the quiver strap lying diagonally over her chest. She moved a little further back, toward the passage they'd come out of and slipped her hand around his neck, drawing his head down to her. Her lips touched his ear and he stilled, listening hard because her voice was little more than a breath.

"No noise here. This is Adoian Baltim, the border between the upper and lower levels of Hell. The shadow demons guard the bridge and are aware of everything that moves across the abyss. The bridge is five thousand steps down. We'll try and get down as far as we can before we light the torches. Cas said that the light from the oil would hold them off us. The second I light my torch you have to light yours," she paused, and he felt her fingers press a little more firmly against his neck. "Listen in the darkness, as hard as you can, because that's the only warning you'll get of their approach."

She released him, looking up at him and he nodded, his face hard with tension.

Ellie nocked an arrow on the bowstring, holding both in one hand, her unlit torch in the other, and turned for the void, walking slowly, placing her feet carefully, her boot soles silent over the hard rock. She turned left in front of Dean, and he followed her, the torch in his right hand as his left felt the sheer rock face. Beneath their feet, the narrow steps were uneven and rough and steep, leading into a blackness that was completely impenetrable.

The stairs were endless, he thought as his muscles twitched and cramped from the tension they were under. He could feel sweat rolling down his back, the heated winds from far below them adding to the effort of trying to move silently, of straining to hear the slightest sound, of having his feet have to reach further for the next step or hit a step before he'd realised it was there. To his right the void stretched out without end, and the black was so deep he kept catching movements in the corner of his eye, though nothing was there when he turned his head to look more closely.

Ahead of him, Ellie moved like a ghost down the uneven steps. He couldn't detect any noise from her, not a breath, not a whisper of her soles across the rock, nothing. He was beginning to understand how she'd been so successful sneaking around Hell. In the back of his mind he'd started counting the steps from the first one – one thousand, six hundred and ninety-five, one thousand, six hundred and ninety-six, one thousand, six hundred and ninety-seven – the knowledge that they hadn't reached the halfway mark and there were the same number to go up on the other side of the abyss pushed away.

Ellie stopped below him and was standing still when he reached the third thousandth step. He stopped, listening, hearing a strange whispering sound in the darkness to their right, in the void. It was almost a rustle but not quite, almost a sigh, but not that either. He turned his head away and felt a slash down his shoulder, the sudden warmth of blood on his arm. Ellie's torch leapt into flame ahead of him and he swung his own to touch the flames of hers, the two torches flaring brightly as the oil burned.

The void was no longer empty. In the brilliant pale gold light, he could see the demons, hovering and gliding on the thermals, long leathern wings outstretched, black and oily looking, huge black eyes flashing past him as they wheeled away from the torches, the firelight gleaming on black hide, glittering on pointed obsidian teeth. Ellie turned, thrusting her torch at him as she lifted the bow, not waiting to see if he'd taken it, her hand leaping to the string and drawing it back, the arrow whickering through the air and driving its full length into the demon that risen from below them. The demon shrieked and fell, its wings beating several times before they folded and the body fell straight down.

"Dean! Move!" Ellie was moving down the steps fast now, another arrow nocked, her aim shifting as she tracked the demon that headed toward them, releasing the arrow when it turned from the light. He hurried after her, a torch in each hand, holding them high as he tried to throw as much light over them both as possible. He swung his torch at another demon that flew at him from above, watching the skin bubble and burst into flame where the fire touched it.

They went down the stairs as fast as possible, as more and more demons rose from the depths beneath them, flying at them from above and below, from either side, forced to turn away when they got too close to the light, but leaving rents and tears in their flesh if the attack wasn't seen quickly enough. Ellie saw the flat, shining surface of the bridge a few more yards down and increased her pace, her fingers scrabbling among the fletchings for the last few remaining arrows, her shoulder and chest muscles aching from the repeated draw and fire.

Dean saw the flat reflective surface of the bridge a second later, and stumbled down the last few stairs after Ellie, aware of how narrow the stone bridge was, as he followed her across, swinging the torches wildly to keep the demons off them until they reach the other side. Ellie was almost two thirds of the way over when she fired her last arrow, letting the bow drop into the abyss and taking her torch back from Dean. She swung the torch around, sliding her foot forward and shifting her weight then sliding the back foot after, unable to look down to check her footing. Dean moved close behind her, in the same way, ducking as the demons came closer to them, attempting to sweep them from the bridge.

Thousands of feet below them, a thin red line thickened suddenly, and a massive gust of heat blew up the abyss. For a moment, the demons were swept away, and they both turned and ran for the other side, heading up the stairs as soon as they reached the wall. The wind dropped but they had the slight advantage of the wall at their backs, the torches still burning with a bright ferocity. Neither could spare the time or the inclination to count, but as they climbed, the demons began to drop away, one by one, as if there was a border above which they could not fly. The last thousand steps brought its own agony, but no further attacks.

* * *

_**Sunrise, Wyoming.**_

Sam dropped to his knees, his machete cutting and hacking, when he heard the hiss of a blade as it cleaved the air. He turned, too slowly, as it pierced the chest of the Watcher beside him, the angel rising from the ground behind Pen, twisting the blade it held to open the back and reaching in for the heart.

Rising to his feet, Sam's hand curled around the grip of the Colt, drawing it out in a single fluid motion, and firing into the heart that was only a few feet away. The angel's eyes opened wide, filled with blue fire as it fell, but Pen's heart was clutched in its hand.

He looked down at the Watcher, watching the light die out of the blue eyes, and let himself fall back to his knees. The Others were almost wiped out, Garth and Dwight and Twist, along with six other Watchers and four nephilim were moving among them, leaving the opened bodies as they went. He felt a hand, light on his shoulder and looked up at Tricia.

"Come on," she said softly, glancing down at the dead man beside Sam and back to his face. "It's over."

The sun had disappeared behind the mountains hours ago as they carried bodies and built the pyres, the Others in one, their own dead in the other. The reek of gasoline filled the air. Twist threw a match and the flames reached up into the sky, burning red at first, then yellow, and finally a bluish colour as the wood was consumed and the bodies burned.

Tricia drove Sam's car out, Sam riding beside her, and three of the Watchers sitting in the back. Twist and Dwight carried another Watcher with them, following the car down the dirt road. Garth took the rest, squeezed into the seats and tray of the big pickup, and followed the other slowly, wishing he hadn't brought Pen here that morning.

* * *

_**Fifth level of Hell.**_

They walked slowly away from the abyss, lungs dragging in air, muscles burning, into a huge hall. The walls had been smoothed and polished, the columns supporting the roof carved and frescoed, the floor cut into geometric designs, the edges bevelled as if it were tiled.

Dean looked around tiredly. "Looks like someone got the decorator in here."

Ellie nodded, sinking to the floor and lying back against her bag. "Not Crowley, I don't think he made it down this far. This would have been Lucifer's work."

He sat down next to her, eyebrow raised. "Yeah? Hearts and flowers kind of guy?"

She grinned at him. "Cas told me once that the Fifth level was a mirror image of one of the sections of Heaven. Lucifer's way of thumbing his nose at his Father."

"I thought Heaven was whatever the soul wants the most?" He remembered the house in Lawrence, his mother making him lunch.

"That's our Heaven. For the angels, I gather it's quite different. Very grand."

"Whatever turns them on." He looked down at her. "What's next?"

"I don't know. I only made it to the edge of Adoian Baltim the last time." She thought of what Castiel had said. "The Fifth level is empty. The Sixth is the Lake of Fire. The Seventh level was where he found you. The Eighth is the Wastelands. The Ninth is the Cage."

"When you say 'Lake of Fire', you don't mean a lake of fire … do you?"

"Cas said it was a lake of magma. The angels had to fly over. I don't think it'll be exactly the same for us."

"Because of the body thing?"

"Yes. The angels weren't exactly in their vessels when they stormed Hell. They were corporeal but not flesh." She shook her head. "It's hard to follow. But a lot of things here change according to what's viewing them – mind, soul or flesh. Since we can't fly, we'll have to hope that's the case."

"Yeah, I don't want to have to turn around and go back the way we came." He twisted to look at his shoulder. The long gash had stopped bleeding somewhere on the stairs and had crusted over. It hurt, but didn't affect the shoulder's movement.

"We're lucky in a way." She closed her eyes.

"What do you mean?" He couldn't imagine anyone less lucky than them right now.

"Before Crowley, each of the arch-demons ruled a level of Hell. That's why there's nine levels. Three are dead. And the other six seem to be off somewhere else. Sneaking by an arch-demon would not have been easy."

_No_, Dean thought uneasily, _it wouldn't_. His mind shied away from the memory of the shadowy figures rising through the floor in the warehouse in St Louis. He didn't want any more memories of Hell or its inhabitants.

He looked down at her, stretched out, her eyes closed, resting. It still probably wasn't the right time or place, but would it ever be, he wondered?

"When we – when I first saw you, in Chicago … at Travis' apartment," he chewed his lip. "There was a look in your eyes … I didn't know what it was then."

He heard her exhale, saw her face tighten slightly. "Ellie, did you … were you in love with me then?"

She kept her eyes closed, breathing slowly. "Yeah."

His brows drew together as he heard an almost defeated note in her voice. He thought of New York, and how much he'd wanted her. She'd seemed comfortable with him, most of the time, he thought. He remembered her telling him how she'd struggled home, because she'd wanted to be with him after Alaska. More pieces. Almost fitting. Not quite, not yet.

"Why didn't you –"

She opened her eyes and looked at him, her smile derisive. "Throw myself at you?"

He frowned. "Tell me."

"If I'd told you then, it would have ended our friendship." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Wouldn't it?"

He looked away, trying to remember how he'd felt, how he might have reacted if she had told him. Heaven and Hell, Lilith and the seals, Sam and the demon blood, angels and vessels and death all around them, trying to fight his way out of the pain of what he'd done in Hell, what he'd felt. She'd been around then, helping when she was there, but he hadn't longed for her then, hadn't yet seen that he needed her. _Be honest_, he thought to himself, _what would you have done then?_

The answer came almost immediately. Taken her to bed and then been so confused about it that he would have avoided contact with her. She was right, it would have destroyed their friendship.

"Yeah, maybe." He bowed his head, hating that admission. He hadn't been ready. She'd told him she wasn't ready, but maybe she'd really meant that he wasn't.

"And in New York?"

She shook her head. "I thought you needed some time on your own."

"Yeah, well you gave me way too much," he said, looking at her. "I thought you'd died on that job in Alaska. Sam and Bobby were convinced that you had."

Another thought struck him. "When you found the ritual to kill Lilith?"

She looked away. He felt a tremble run through his body. "Ellie? When? When did you first know?"

"North Dakota, Dean." Her voice was barely a whisper. He sat still for a long moment. North Dakota had been in 2007. He remembered turning to her, needing comfort, her arms around him. She'd drawn away, when Sam had called.

He moved closer to her, and lay down, stretching out beside her on his side, his arm curling around her. He didn't know what to say. It explained some things, raised questions about others. Everything she'd done, over almost the entire time they'd known each other, she'd done from love. Long before there was any hope of that for her. It should have made him happy, made him feel … he didn't know exactly, but it wasn't. Instead he felt as if his heart was breaking, a little, inside.

Ellie heard the change in his breathing and turned her head to look at him.

"It was okay, Dean," she said softly. "I kept thinking it would go away, but it never did. I got used to it."

"Why didn't you tell me, at Bobby's … or anytime in the last two years?"

"I don't know. It made me vulnerable." Under his hand, he felt her heart beat a little faster.

It was why she'd left after Raphael's failed attack, he realised suddenly. Why she hadn't just come to him in Cicero. She'd already loved him for long enough to want what she'd thought was his happiness, over the chance for her own. The pieces fit together and he ducked his head against her neck, eyes closed tightly.

"Aren't you allowed to be vulnerable with me?" He raised his head, looking into her eyes. "You know everything about me."

He felt her ribs rise as she took in a deep breath. "I gave you as much as I could, at the time."

"That's not really an answer."

"There was Sam," she said softly.

"What about him?" He shifted onto his elbow, looking down into her face.

"Sam always came first, with you." She sat up, looking back at him. "I knew that, knew that was a part of you."

He was frowning at her, still not understanding, then the frown disappeared and his eyes widened as understanding came, and with it a kind of shock.

"You believed … that at the last, if push came to shove, I'd pick him over you?"

"You always have." She shrugged, looking away. "It didn't make that much difference, Dean, only I couldn't quite let you all the way in. I needed to have something apart."

He closed his eyes, and a lot more pieces fell into place. How she'd felt at Bobby's, after his time with Lisa and Ben, why she'd left, when he'd told her about Jo coming to kill him … why she'd never told him about talking to God, or going to Hell …

"What about now?" He opened his eyes and looked at her, his breath held tightly in his chest.

"I don't know, not really." She rubbed her forehead tiredly. "I hope it'll never come to that test."

He frowned. "You don't believe in the way I feel about you?"

"I do." She looked at him in surprise. "I know you love me, Dean. I don't doubt you, I don't think even you know how you would feel if you had to make a decision."

He was silent. She was right. He didn't know. He hadn't thought about it, because it hadn't come up.

Ellie rolled to her feet, looking at him. "You ready? We should keep going."

He nodded, getting up and putting the pack on again, his thoughts churning.

They got up and started to walk through the level, following the wide halls and passages, feeling the hot winds soughing past them, the draughts caused by the rising heat of the lower levels.

The level was empty, the only sound above the soft moaning of the winds, the slap of their footfalls on the smooth and polished floors. They walked in silence, lost in their thoughts, barely looking at their surroundings. Dean wrestled with what she'd said, understanding more now, but some part of himself wishing he didn't. He wanted to believe that he would put her first, above anything else, even his brother. He wasn't sure he could.

At the end of the empty halls and rooms and chambers were the gates to the Sixth level. Ellie looked at them suspiciously. They should have been closed, and locked. But they stood open, and unguarded. Dean glanced at Ellie.

"What's wrong?"

"The gates should be shut."

"Maybe someone was in a rush?" He looked back at the gates. They were thirty feet high and ten foot thick. Personally, he was kind of glad that they were open.

They walked slowly toward them, the demon knives drawn and ready. As they came over the slight rise that the gates stood upon, they looked down into the gargantuan domed cavern that held the Lake of Fire.

* * *

_**The Lake of Fire**_

"Oh, you gotta be kiddin' me." Dean stared at the red and gold bubbling surface of the liquid rock that lay before them, coughing a little in the toxic fumes. "Come on!"

Ellie started along the shore line, looking at the edges. She was almost thirty feet from Dean, when he noticed he was standing there by himself, and turned around to look for her. He walked fast along the crunching rocks that formed the uneven beach to the lake.

"How are we going to get across this?" He coughed, feeling his lungs hitch at the poisonous fumes that surrounded them.

Ellie opened her mouth to answer him and froze. She gripped his hand and turned, running for the jagged rocks that were a little further from the shoreline. As they reached them, he heard what had caught her attention, the sound of feet over the pumice behind them. They crawled silently into a deep crevice in the pitted black rock, hiding in the shadow. A creeping cold invaded the space, a feeling of lifelessness, as if the energy was being drawn from their bones.

"We cannot bring him back to power and still keep him on a leash without ensouling him." The voice was deep, but raw, rasping and guttural as if the throat through which the words issued was ripped and torn.

"_Yes_."

Ellie squeezed her eyes shut tightly at the sound of the second voice, uninflected and sepulchral, it sent chills through them both, they drew away from it, curling tighter in the tiny space together.

"Only a soul with an angel's power can do it." The first voice was less distinct, as if the speaker had turned away.

"_There is such a child_."

"Where? How do we find it?" The first voice became louder again.

"_In time_."

"Time! Time is what we don't have. Heaven will notice us all too soon."

"_We have all the time of Eternity_."

The shocking suddenness of the rending scream made them both flinch back, skin crawling as the cry trailed raggedly away into a series of half-sobs and gasps.

"How long can we hold him as he is?" The first voice was cracked and broken, wheezing through the words.

"_As long it takes_." A long slow hiss came from the shore. "_Something moves between the planes_."

"There is nothing here."

"_No. Something is here_."

"We can search?"

"_Yes_." The hiss came again. "_Level by level. Search_."

The pumice shifted and rattled as the feet that disturbed it moved away. More distantly they heard a long drawn out grating sound, and a boom.

Ellie sat with her legs drawn tightly to her, arms wrapped around them, her forehead resting on them. Her head was pounding with the fear of being discovered, fear of being found by the arch-demons. Dean sat silently, unwilling to unlock his muscles in case he made the slightest sound and brought them back. They waited, in complete stillness, for a long time.

Ellie drew in a deep breath. "I think we can go."

Dean looked at her. In the darkness of the crevice her face was pale blur, and he could feel her shaking.

"What was that? What were they?"

"The Princes." Ellie turned her head to him. "The Fallen."

She eased her legs out, the sensation of being hollowed out still present, but fading. Dean stood up next to her. "Are we stuck here?"

She shook her head. "No, but we have to hurry now. If they're searching … they'll find us if they know to look between the planes."

She walked down towards the lake, before Dean could move, before he could grasp what she was about to do. His scream rose up his throat as she stepped into the molten rock, into the flames and stopped. Ellie stood on broken rock, a few feet from the shore, looking at him.

"Dean."

He walked down to the shoreline, looking at the rock, the hardened lava still in the rolls and curves and humps it had had when it was molten.

"Come on." Ellie turned away and began walking quickly, her head down, eyes watching the ground as she avoided the holes and lips of the razor-sharp crust. Dean followed her out onto the lava plain, unable to remember seeing it change from liquid to solid, unsure now if it had been liquid when they'd first seen it. It stretched out ahead of them into the distance, puffs of steam here and there, but solid underfoot.

* * *

_**Jackson, Wyoming**_

Baraquiel sat beside Sam at the long table, long, golden hair catching the light of the low wattage overhead bulbs, which also shadowed his face. "What are the plans now?"

Sam looked up at the Watcher tiredly. "Got me."

The man who had been an angel tilted his head slightly. "It's not over, you know."

"No. It's never over." Sam agreed softly. He looked down at the table. "We, uh, regroup, I guess. Wait to see if my brother makes it back."

"Your people are very resilient." Baraquiel looked around the room. Twist, Dwight, Garth and Tricia were playing poker by the fire, the game mostly quiet but occasionally a complaint or argument drifted over.

"They've had a lot of practise."

"Yes." He turned back to Sam. "You could use our help."

"We could use anyone's help." He looked around the room. The remaining Watchers and nephilim sat in small groups, talking softly or sitting in silent contemplation. "What exactly are you offering?"

"There's nothing for us to go back to now. The Others turned the population of our home against us before they left. We'll be safer in this country, for a while at least. And we will fight on Heaven's side when Hell rises."

He hesitated, looking down at the table, then back up to Sam's face. "You know this country. You know the people. An alliance, perhaps. Our strength for your knowledge?"

"That's vague. What do you want?"

"I want to find a safe place for my people. I want to continue to train our children, so that when the time comes to fight, they'll be ready."

Sam looked at him. "We need to find a base too. Some place we can defend, retreat to if necessary. But I can't do anything until I know that my brother's alive – or dead."

Baraquiel nodded. "We'll wait here, with you."

* * *

_**Lake of Fire, Hell.**_

They stood on the far shore of the lake, on a milky grey beach of finely crushed pumice, looking up at the massive porphyry gates in front of them. The gates were set into the sheer wall of stone, marked over with sigils and wards. Above the gates, an inscription had been carved out.

Ellie drank a mouthful of water, swirling it around and swallowing it as she passed the canteen to Dean. He felt how light it was and let a little trickle into his mouth, before closing it and handing it back.

She put the canteen in her bag absently, looking at the gates, at the walls surrounding them. This was the level that Dean had been held in, Cas had told her, when the angels had come to get him. He'd described the gates, said that it had taken the power of seven angels to open them. She had a feeling two humans, even in their bodies, were not going to be able to do it.

She looked along the length of the wall. It wasn't sheer in all places, she noticed. Just surrounding the gates. Or, she thought diffidently, it may have been sheer to mind or soul but not to flesh. It didn't matter one way or the other. She walked along the base of the wall slowly, looking at the rock face, looking for enough blemishes and fractures, holes or protrusions to be able to climb up.

Dean followed her, looking up at the wall, which stood eighty or ninety feet above them. He still wasn't hungry or tired, although his body was aching and he longed for enough water to wash the poisons of the lake from his mouth and throat. He looked into the sky above them, pewter coloured, tinged with red behind them.

The light never varied, the temperature also was constant. It made judging time difficult. Their watches had stopped the moment they'd passed through the gate. Distance seemed variable. He looked back the way they'd come and couldn't see the far shore, just a straight line across the horizon. But not that long ago, when they'd been on the lake, he'd looked back and seen the rising rock face that held the gates to the level quite clearly.

"I think we can get over here." Ellie's voice broke through his thoughts and he turned back to her, looking up at the wall. It was rougher than the rest, but still almost vertical.

He settled his pack against his back, tightening the straps to hold it firmly, watching as she did the same. They would be doing this alone, each of them, side by side not one under the other. Ellie started to climb, and Dean moved to the wall a few feet from her, finding the first handhold and locking his fingers into it, searching for a foothold with the toe of his boot, finding one and pulling himself up.

Their progression was slow, both making sure of their holds before they attempted to change position. Neither looked down.

Dean felt the breeze as he reached the top, flinging his arm over the edge of the wall and finding a solid knob of rock to curl his fingers around. It was cooler, drying the sweat from his face as he shifted the balance of his weight from his feet to his arms and pulled himself to the flat ledge on the top of the wall. Ellie swung her leg up and dragged herself over a moment later, rolling over and lying on her back against her bag, as she let the fear of the climb dissipate. She didn't mind heights generally, but that had been different.

"This is the Seventh level?" Dean raised his head from his arms to look at her. She nodded, rolling onto her side and looking down.


	30. Chapter 30 The Frozen Wastelands

**Chapter 30**

* * *

_**The Seventh level, Hell.**_

The plain that stretched out in all directions beneath them was a labyrinth. Upthrust rock and eroded canyons formed the passages through it; she could see the pattern and the centre from their vantage point. The gate was at the centre, possibly another dimensional doorway, she thought. Castiel had said that the ground was not ground, exactly, the rock formed of hardened lava, a carpet of sharp edges that sliced through anything it touched. She frowned as she looked down to the ground beneath her, trying to make out the details.

"How do we get down?" Dean sat up, looking at the rocks below them.

Ellie looked along the top of the wall, back to where the gates were. On either side of the gates, a staircase had been cut from the stone, leading down to the inside of the level.

"We'll take the stairs."

Dean followed her gaze and got up, walking to her and extending his hand. She took it, glad for his strength as he pulled to her feet. She wasn't hungry or tired particularly, but her muscles were aching and they still had a long way to go.

They walked along the top of the wall and down the stairs. At the bottom, Ellie crouched and picked up a handful of the sand that was the ground. It sparkled in the odd directionless light, like powdered glass. She looked around, standing again. The sand was everywhere, drifting over the rocks, showing the paths into the labyrinth.

"What is it?" Dean looked at her puzzled expression, at the sand still trickling out from her fingers.

"Guess we caught a break." She turned to him. "Cas told me that the ground on this level was sharp, impossible to walk over, volcanic glass and rock." She looked down at the sand. "But for us, it seems it's just sand."

"Good. We could use a break."

"Yeah." She started into the opening she'd seen from the top, walking quickly as she counted off the lefts and rights that were fresh in her memory, holding the pattern as she'd seen it from above.

The sand shifted under their feet, getting deeper and deeper as they got closer to the centre, but still infinitely preferable to razor sharp rocks, Dean thought as he followed her. The air was once again still now that they were below the level of the wind, the rock to either side trapping a strange heat that sometimes felt as if it was coming from above them, sometimes felt as if it was rising from below. He trudged along, wiping his face and neck, watching Ellie's back and wishing fervidly for a cold beer.

Ellie walked out into the clear area, surprised by how quickly they'd gotten through. It was a help to have the pattern in her head, she thought, but still. The area was about fifty yards across, almost circular, floored with the deep fine sand. She saw a darker patch ahead and to the left and walked to it, looking down at the shape and the bones that lay there. The skeleton was black, not human, she thought, looking at the sawn edges of the bones that rose from the back of the shoulder joints. The skull leaned to one side, the eye sockets filled with sand. Moloch, she guessed. Killed by Uriel and Balthazar.

Dean walked into the space behind her, glancing around. To the right a long stone table stood and he felt life drain out of him, his veins solidifying, his heart slowing, his lungs stop inflating, as memory crowded back, crowded close to him, drowning his senses and filling his mind. Behind the table was a metal frame, coated in a thick black substance, chains and pulleys hanging from it.

_No._

_No. I didn't. (You did)_

_No. I wasn't. (You were)_

_No. (You loved the feel of the razor slicing through.)_

_No. (And the screams of agony)_

_No. (And the pain that fed you)_

"NO!"

Ellie spun around, taking in Dean's frozen body, the horror on his face, the table beyond with the rack behind it. She ran for him, swearing at herself, cursing herself for not _noticing_ the fucking table, not putting two and two together when they entered.

His muscles were bunched, every one contracted and as hard as iron to touch. His eyes weren't seeing her, were looking inwards, to memories that he'd spent years burying, hiding from. She pushed at him but it was like pushing at a statue, he wasn't present. She had to reach him, somehow. Sliding her arms around him, she pressed herself against him, against the unyielding wall of his chest.

"Dean. Dean, it's Ellie. Hear me." She spoke quietly, but insistently, repeating herself over and over, listening to the slow beat of his heart, feeling the barely discernible rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in and out. "Dean, come back, it's over. Come back."

"_You know the reason you were chosen? It's in the line, Dean, in the bloodline. We knew we'd get you, sooner or later."_

"_Your mind is the only thing I need to reduce you to nothing, Dean. Such a good imagination. So easy for you to see it all, to feel it all, isn't it?"_

D e a n.

Dean, come back.

"_I knew you'd enjoy their pain, there's a darkness inside you that your brother can't hold a candle to!"_

Dean, it's over. Alastair is dead. Come back. Dean, it's Ellie, come back.

_Pain._

_So much pain, he couldn't get clear of it, couldn't find any escape, couldn't stand it._

_Agony._

_Ripping, slicing, carving, shredding … the wink of the razor blade in the flat, dull light._

_Torment._

_I'm not doing this, this isn't me, this is someone else, I'm not here, not here, not here._

_Despair._

_God will never save you, this is your destiny, Dean, for all eternity until entropy takes the last drop of blood and the last beam of light and darkness covers everything. Get used to it, because this is all you'll ever know._

Dean, come back, it's just a memory. Come back to me.

_Horror._

_The faces kept changing, kept changing to the people he loved, he closed his eyes but he still saw them, saw their agony under his blade._

_Terror._

_Who was he? Who had he become? He watched himself swing the blade, watched it bite deeply, lift, and couldn't feel himself in the arm that swung, in the fingers that gripped the razor so tightly. Who was he … now?_

_Desolation._

_Ah Dean, that imagination, all the great ones have it, I know you can see into them, see what they really fear, give it to them. You have real promise, boy. The face of the soul in front of him wavered and changed, widening, eyes turning from blue to hazel, hair flopping over the clear forehead. No. I can't. I can't do this. This is the only game in town, Dean, we don't deal the deck down here, we just play the hand._

"Dean, come on, come back now. It's over. It's over."

Ellie murmured the words over and over, still beside him, knowing that somewhere inside of him, he could still hear. He'd told her about this, about picking up the tools and torturing the souls, about the sense of losing himself, of seeing his soul shrivelled and black, about the way the faces had changed, and his fear of the demon, Alastair, and the way that, after a while, he'd begun to enjoy the work, seeking out the fears of his victims, using them, drawing more and more pain from them for his master to drink, about the idea that deep down there was a fledgling demon, curled inside of him, waiting, watching. She didn't believe that. And she thought he might have recognised that despite the choices, despite what he'd felt about it, he hadn't given up himself to Hell's darkness, he had come out with his soul battered but unbroken.

She felt the first loosening in his chest, as he struggled to take an extra breath, his heart stuttering as the muscles of his limbs softened, demanding more blood. She was ready when his knees gave way, and he dropped to the sand, his eyes closing finally. She knelt beside him, holding him tightly, waiting for the memories and the reactions to dim, to let him go.

* * *

_**Jackson, Wyoming.**_

Tricia moved quietly around the room, checking the salt lines, turning off all but a single lamp. Sam listened to her as he lay on the bed. They hadn't talked about her being here, it had just seemed natural to seek out comfort in each other, the waiting and the aftermath of the fight too hard to face alone.

He looked at her as she stripped off her clothes, tossing them over a chair and walking toward him. She was still too thin, collarbones and shoulders, elbows and hips and knees sticking out like those of a coltish teenager. He shifted slightly to make room for her, putting his arms around her as she snuggled close against him, her skin cool and soft on his.

"How long do we wait here for, Sam?" her voice was quiet, the mellow contralto soothing.

"Cas will know when they get back. He said he'd come." He buried his face in her hair, his lips grazing the smooth skin of her neck. "This is as safe as anywhere else."

She nodded, her arm tightening around him. "But we're not doing anything. Makes people antsy when they can't do something."

He thought about that. She was right. Just waiting gave everyone too much time to think, too much time to wonder if things could have gone differently. He thought of the possible options.

"We could go back to Oregon. The house is big. And the forest is next to it. We could do some training there." He thought of Baraquiel, the tall Watcher who wanted to help. "The nephilim could be trained there."

We could train each other, he thought. Even Castiel didn't know where the cage would open, when Dean used the key. It didn't matter if they were in Wyoming or Oregon – or the Bahamas. Cas would bring them to wherever they were. And he would lose these people without a plan, without something to do.

He shifted onto his elbow, looking down into her face. "I'm glad you're here."

She smiled. "Then show me."

He bent to kiss her, feeling her hands move over his body, desire shutting out thought and worry and doubt.

* * *

_**The Frozen Wastelands, Hell.**_

Dean lifted his head, careful not to look at the table. The memories of his time here were overlaid by similar but different memories now. The older memories were more indistinct, more feelings than thoughts. The newer ones were precise. He wondered bleakly if that was due to seeing it again in his body. The thought bothered him, as if he'd lived here several times, co-existing across several planes. The old memories had been bad enough.

Ellie looked into his eyes, glad to see that they were focussing outwardly again. She smoothed her hand down the side of his face, wiping away the sweat and tears from his cheeks. He looked at her, saw the concern in her eyes and shook his head slightly.

"I'm okay." He shifted, getting up with her. "You know, what the German dude said."

She smiled, still feeling worried about him. "Nietzsche?"

"I guess." He looked around, dropping his gaze to the ground as it got close to the table. "Where's the gate?"

She looked around. "It should be here, in the centre."

The rocky walls surrounding them held no doorways or even openings. The only things of note were the table and the rack. She looked at them carefully for a long time, but they were as they seemed, things of torture only. She felt the sand shifting under her feet and looked down. It was possible, she thought.

Dropping to her knees, she started to dig in the sand, tossing the fine grains out of the hole as far as she could, as the sides collapsed around her hands. Dean knelt and began to dig as well. The depth of the sand had seemed great, but Ellie felt the raised reliefs under her fingers in a few moments, just twelve inches down, the smooth coolness of metal.

"I think this is it." She cleared away more sand and Dean saw the outlines against the sand as well. When they'd finished clearing the surface the metal disc was almost two feet in diameter, engraved and polished with the same sigils that had been carved into the gates. Dean looked up at her.

"How do we make it work?"

She shook her head, getting to her feet and taking his hand. "I don't know. We could try standing on it –"

They took the step down to the disc at the same time and felt the vertiginous wrench together, arms locked around each other as light and air and sound and weight vanished. Dean couldn't feel her against him; for the space of a long heartbeat, he was in the blackness alone. Then they were standing on a vast plain, a bitterly cold wind slicing at them, carrying fine granules of snow or ice that peppered them, rattling against their clothes, stinging against their skin.

"Guess that was it." He looked down at her. Ellie nodded, drawing her jacket tightly around her as the cold penetrated quickly. They turned to look around, the featureless landscape white and grey, long shallow humps and rock and gravel under their feet. In the distance she could see a faint blue light, reflecting on the edge of the pewter sky.

"That way, I think."

Dean followed her gaze and nodded. Straight into the wind, he thought, of course. He pulled his jacket collar up around his neck, and started walking beside Ellie, their heads bowed as their boots crunched over snow and ice and rock, heading across the tundra.

* * *

_**Scotts Mills, Willamette Valley, Oregon**_

Twist looked down at the rifle, separated into its components now. He looked around the faces surrounding him, eyes on his, eager to learn.

"So, now we clean it all out, and then put it back together again." He nodded and five pairs of hands reached for their own rifles, deftly pulling them apart. Watching them, he realised with surprise that a single lesson was going to be enough for these folks, their ability to understand and remember was phenomenal. Make everything go much quicker, he thought in satisfaction.

Dwight was watching two Watchers at single combat, his eye critical. They were fast, and strong – unbelievably strong, he thought – but had no idea of how to use those gifts, not against each other, certainly not against a human opponent. He called to them to stop, and starting explaining about tactics and pressure points and weaknesses.

Tricia walked across the grassy lawn and sat down next to Sam and Baraquiel, watching the groups of angels, nephilim and humans. "Well, everyone seems happier."

Baraquiel glanced at her. "Yes. This is good. We can all learn, and we'll be stronger for it."

Sam felt the temperature drop slightly and looked around. He couldn't see Bobby but had a feeling that the ghost wanted to talk in private.

"I'll be back in a minute." He got to his feet and walked back to the house, going up the stairs to the bedroom he was sharing with Tricia, where Bobby's flask stood on the windowsill.

"Bobby?"

"Hard to get your attention these days." The temperature plummeted as Bobby materialised next to the window.

"Yeah, sorry. What's up?" Sam looked at him.

"Frank still working on the leviathan stuff?"

"Yeah, I think so." Frank's Airstream was parked down behind the garage, out of the way and hidden among the trees. "Why?"

"I remembered the number and it ain't the one he come up with. And I remembered why the damned number was so important."

Sam turned to him slowly. "Why?"

"It's a genetic code, for a virus. They ain't building research centres to cure cancer, they're building research centres to wipe out this virus – because it can kill them."

"We better go see Frank."

"Ya think?" Bobby followed Sam out of the room.

* * *

_**The Frozen Wastelands, Hell.**_

Ellie stumbled over the small hump, unable to feel her feet as the cold wind took more and more of her body heat. Dean stepped close beside her, catching her arm before she went down, putting his arm around her and supporting her as they kept walking. Their faces were red and raw with the sting of the fine dry snow that blew onto them, filling the creases and folds in their clothes, settling over their packs, in their hair and coating their lashes and brows.

He looked up, squinting against the wind and snow. The goddamned blue light seemed as far as ever, as if they were walking endlessly in the one place. The cold was slowly penetrating through to his core as well, but he was more worried about the woman beside him, her lighter body weight and precious little fat over her bones made hypothermia a more pressing danger for her.

In the world above them, or beneath or beside, wherever it was, he thought irritably, he would be able to do something, build them a shelter or something. Here, there was no place to stop, and no useful outcome if they did. They had no food, very little water, no extra clothing or anything to help the cold off them. They could stop and sit but they would be facing the same thing when they got up again. He pulled her closer to his side and kept on walking.

When he looked up again, the light was definitely closer, much closer. He didn't question the change, just accepted it. Under his arm he could feel Ellie constantly shivering now, could hear her teeth chattering together even over the howl and moaning of the wind. Several times his foot had broken through a sheet of ice, plunging into a shallow pool of freezing water and he didn't hold out much hope for keeping all of his toes when they finally reached the Ninth level.

He felt Ellie sag beside him and stopped, catching her before she hit the ground. As her head tipped back he saw her eyes were open but rolled back, her skin white and bloodless. He lowered her to the ground and pressed his ear to her chest, listening for a heart beat, for the rise and fall of her breathing. He waited, hearing nothing, his own breath held tightly. There was a beat, slow and singular. Her hands were like ice, and he tucked them against her chest, stripping off his jacket and wrapping it around her. He knelt beside her, his arms around her shoulders and knees as he lifted her up. The wind cut through the thin shirt and t-shirt he wore, but he started to walk faster, forcing the blood to move through his body, trying to keep Ellie protected from the wind, curled in against him.

He was so used to pushing hard against the pressure of the wind that he almost fell when it ceased. He staggered forward, just catching his balance before her weight could pull him over, and lifted his head, looking around. They were in a room, the snow and ice melting under his feet.

He turned, looking behind him, but the tundra was gone, a wall in its place. The room was large, bare walls, bare floor, an ornate ceiling with an antique candelabra hanging from the centre, the candles lit, shedding a soft buttery light, their flames perfectly straight and steady.

He walked out of the puddles that were forming under him and lowered Ellie to the floor, resting his fingers against the artery in her neck, feeling the pulse getting stronger as her body responded to the warmth.

There were no doors or windows in the room, no break at all in the run of cornice, picture rail and skirting boards that decorated the walls. He shrugged, and turned his attention back to the woman on the floor, sitting beside her and lifting her head and shoulders onto the curve of his thigh, his hand resting lightly over her breastbone, where he could feel her heartbeat and breathing without having to look. He wriggled his toes slightly in his boots, feeling them against each other, against the thick softness of the sock that covered them. Maybe he'd get to keep them after all.

Ellie opened her eyes. She looked into Dean's face, seeing his relief, emotion softening his eyes, his mouth as he looked down at her.

"Hey."

"Hey." She wriggled up, lifting a hand to touch the reddened, sore skin on her face. "What happened?"

"Yeah, I got nothing." He looked around. "One minute you were out, we were on the tundra, it looked like I still had about ten miles to go – the next, we're in here."

Ellie nodded slowly. "Then we must have crossed into the Ninth level."

His eyebrows rose. "This is the Cage?"

She shrugged. "The antechamber, maybe." She rolled over onto her knees, and started to get up.

"No." Dean's hand snapped out and caught her wrist. "Rest first."

She looked at him, in a half-crouch, balanced on her knee and foot. "We can't sleep here, you know that."

"Yeah, I know. But before we go and find out what's behind door number two, let's just stay in one place for a few minutes. Okay?" Behind the flippancy, she could see the entreaty in his eyes.

"Sure." She sank down again. He moved his pack behind them and stretched out on the floor, pulling her close to him, her head pillowed against his chest.

"Did I scare you?" she asked softly, lifting her head to look at him when he stopped moving.

"Scared me to death," he admitted, his hand moving to push the loose strands of hair from her forehead. "Your heart slowed right down, I couldn't feel a pulse, your lips were blue … it wasn't fun."

The corners of her mouth tucked in. "Sorry, I'll be more careful next time."

"Damned straight." He looked into her eyes. "Not that there'll be a 'next' time, just so's you know."

"Sure, yeah, I can see that."

"Good." His arms tightened around her and she rested her cheek against him. "Now stop talking, I gotta rest."

He felt the lift of her cheek against his chest and relaxed, not sleeping, not thinking, just being for a while.

* * *

"Ellie?"

"Mmmm?"

"I've been thinking … about Dad." His voice was soft and low, and calm. She closed her eyes, feeling a flutter in her stomach.

"Yeah?"

"I couldn't accept what he did." He hesitated, and she heard his deeply drawn breath. "And I couldn't accept why he did it. For a long time."

Ellie waited, letting him get it out without interference.

"After a while, I kept thinking that everything that went wrong, everything … came from that one thing, that he did … to save me." His chest hitched under her cheek. "I kept thinking that if he hadn't made that deal, then none of it would've happened, what happened after …"

His voice broke, and she closed her eyes. "It wasn't true. Sam … Sam was still … infected, or whatever you call it … he still would have been killed by the other kid of Yellow Eyes … it might have happened in a different way, but it still would have happened."

"I blamed him, Ellie, I blamed him for everything. For all the pain we went through, for all the people who died … he … it was convenient to blame him, even when I knew that … even when I knew something was my fault, I blamed him. It all got mixed up … in my head … after Hell. After Alastair told me … about the … I couldn't stop thinking about the way he didn't break … and I did."

She shifted slightly, wanting to say something and he looked down, his arm tightening around her, holding her still, shaking his head.

"I know that was stupid." He let out a deep breath. "Maybe he was stronger, maybe he had better armour … it doesn't matter. It played out the way it was supposed to and there was nothing anyone could do about it … but it got messed up … in my head … and I couldn't get it straight, couldn't talk about it, couldn't figure it out."

"Until I told you." He looked down at her, remembering the night he'd told her about Hell, his certainty she'd go, his disbelief when she'd kissed him and told him that she loved him instead. "That was the first time it felt clear … it was the first time I stopped and saw it in one whole piece, instead of a million splinters."

He was still sure that if things had happened differently the next day, if Raphael hadn't shown up, he might have been able to get a lot more clear. But there was no time, and she'd gone, and working it out on his own had proved impossible.

"It got worse after you left." He felt her move again, and shook his head, hoping she would understand he didn't blame her, it was just the way it had been. "I couldn't keep anything separate after that." He fell silent, remembering what he'd said to Joshua, in the Garden, his bitterness at God being automatically overlaid onto his feelings about his father. It had seemed right to him at the time, both of them disappearing when they were most needed, leaving their sons to cope the best way they could. It had been a strange juxtaposition with a lot of hindsight, but it had fit then.

"I wanted Dad. I needed someone to help me with what was going on. I … couldn't carry the load on my own, couldn't protect Sam, couldn't protect you, couldn't even hold onto my own hope." He shook his head. "God, I hated him for not being there. I hated him the way I hated myself, for not being strong enough to deal with it all."

Ellie felt her chest constrict at the pain in his voice. He'd never believed in his own strength, had only ever looked at what he'd done wrong, not all that he'd done right. And even in the depths of his despair, he'd still struggled on, not even believing in the cause but still fighting for it.

His chest shook as he gave a shaky laugh. "It was weird … I hated him for leaving it all on me, but he'd done it so that I could live. I couldn't make the edges of those two things fit together no matter what I tried. So I stopped thinking about it."

"When I found out that you were pregnant … Sam told me to go and think about what that meant to me." She heard the slight smile in his voice as he remembered his brother's advice in Rufus' cabin. "I realised then that Dad had had a really rough ride after Mom's death. Trying to look after us. Not knowing what he was doing. Running scared, without even time to mourn her."

He hadn't known that his father had known about Sam throughout their childhood until he'd read Jim Murphy's journal. "He found out about the demon not long after she was killed. And he found out that she'd made a deal and what the deal was in '86, when he and Jim and Bill closed a gate together. I remember that he got drunk a lot after that, and he was angry, all the time … for a long time."

His memories crowded back, the Christmas in Maple Rapids, his feelings even then that Dad had found something out about his mother, something that was eating him alive.

"It explained a hell of a lot. But I didn't really understand it until I knew that I was going to be a father as well." He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. "Even then, I couldn't forgive him. Not entirely. Now, I wonder if I'll ever be able to. I know he had fuck-all choice in the things that happened, I know that he did the best he could, tried to keep us safe, to keep us alive and prepared … I know that he didn't want this life for me and Sam, but I … I just keep thinking … he should have tried harder."

Ellie felt the shiver that passed through him.

"Bobby gave us more of himself, more trust and more ... love, than Dad ever did." Dean shifted against his pack. "He's what I'd want to be … as a father."

"Bobby didn't have a demon hunting him," Ellie said quietly. "He didn't have to face the knowledge that his wife had saved him from death only to give up her youngest child to a demon in return. He didn't know that Sam had been poisoned at six months old and could turn into a monster on his twenty third birthday. He didn't have to face the choice of watching one son die, with the knowledge that he would possibly have to kill the other, when there was a way to at least save you."

She could feel the tension spreading through him as she spoke, but she didn't want to leave it like this. He needed the reality of his father's life, not the mixed up memories.

"Bobby had it easy with you and Sam. He knew it. He could afford to be indulgent with you because it wasn't up to him to keep you alive. He loved you and Sam very much, but his love didn't come at the same price as your father's did. Your dad didn't deal the hand he got, Dean. It was your mother's choice to save him, and your father paid for that choice every day of his life with her. He could have pretended that her death was a freak accident, and left Sam to turn into something else. He could have let you die and tried to live with that, knowing the whole time that Sam could go insane, or become a monster. He didn't do those things because he was thinking of the best way for you to survive, for you both to survive. And you have."

She sat up, looking at him. "Just do me a favour. Think about that. Think about all the things that your father had to go through so that you and Sam would live."

* * *

_**Scotts Mills, Willamette Valley, Oregon.**_

Frank shivered. "Bobby, you're freezing out my office."

"Get over it."

"I can't type if my fingers are too damned cold to move."

"Hmff." Bobby drifted down to the other end of the trailer, leaving a sparkling trail of frost on the items and shelving as he went.

"Well, you're right. It's a protein marker. They're trying to create a vaccine."

"Can we build or create or whatever you call it, the virus itself?"

"Us personally? No. But I still have some contacts in bioengineering; they may be able to point us to someone who can."

"Will the virus kill people as well?" Sam looked over Frank's shoulder at the screen.

"Possibly. Depends on how it's engineered. What the parameters are." Frank frowned as another window popped up on the screen.

"Dick found whatever he was looking for in that dig." He opened the window and started reading the news report. "Says it was a fertility bowl."

Sam's brow creased. "Anything special about it?"

"Aside from being over four thousand years old and found under the Dead Sea? No, not that I can tell from this."

"Can you print that out, I'll show it to Baraquiel, he was probably around then."

Sam turned and looked to the other end of the trailer. "Can you think of any reason Dick Roman would want a four thousand year old fertility bowl?"

"Aside from the obvious one?" Bobby's tone was clearly unimpressed.

"What's the obvious one?"

"To do a ritual to enable the leviathans to breed, idjit."

Sam's head snapped back to the screen. "Frank, find out everything you can about that bowl."

"Yeah, yeah, already on it."


	31. Chapter 31 Raising an Archangel

**Chapter 31**

* * *

_**The Cage, Hell.**_

Ellie sat cross-legged on the floor, her bag emptied in front of her, its contents in neat piles around her. A couple of feet away, Dean was reorganising his own pack, crouched on his heels, tossing what they wouldn't need and repacking what they did.

"So, how do we get in?" He glanced at her.

"I guess we use the key."

He frowned. "I thought the key would let us all out somewhere on earth?"

"Yes, if we're inside the cage, I think it will." She looked at the walls. "But here, I think it'll just let us in."

She finished wrapping the bottles and stowed them inside the bag, leaving the holy oil at the top.

"How long do you think we've been down here?" Dean fastened the pack and set it aside.

"No idea." She stood up, stretching her muscles. They ached, still, but the terrifying cold had gone completely and she didn't seem any the worse for it. "I can't even guess. Nothing seems very linear down here."

"No." He stood, putting the pack on, looking at her. In his hand, the four rings had joined, the key was ready. He stepped forward and took her hand, then turned to the wall, tossing the rings against it.

"Bvtmon ... Tabges ... Babalon"

The wall disappeared and they were standing in a cave of smooth and translucent ice. Dean looked down and picked up the key, the rings still bound together. He put it into his pocket.

"Dean Winchester. And friend." The voice was deep and vibrant, a rich and full baritone with dark undertones. It echoed from the hard cold surfaces, whispering through the tunnels of ice that seemed to surround the cave.

Dean and Ellie turned together. Michael stood behind them, in Adam's body, leaning casually on a four foot sword.

"Is this a rescue mission?" He looked from Dean to Ellie, talking a step toward them.

"Yeah, you could call it that." Dean felt his heart stutter at the sight of his half-brother. He was taller and broader than he'd been on earth, his eyes transformed from their natural light blue irises to vivid angelic colour, the heavenly shade of blue that lies at the heart of a morning-glory.

"Something that requires my attention, in Heaven, perhaps?" Michael took another step closer to them, glancing at Ellie's face.

"The new management in Hell is planning on taking over the Earth, apparently." Dean watched the angel's expression, uneasy as Michael turned to Ellie.

"Come on, Dean, you can do better than that. They're always planning on taking over the Earth." Michael looked at him.

"Bitter much, Michael?"

"A little fucking bit." The archangel turned away from him abruptly, looking at Ellie.

"Now, we've met before, I think." He turned and walked around her. "I recognise that hair."

Ellie lifted her chin. "Yes. I brought you a message about the Others from Penemue."

"That's right, you did." He looked back at Dean. "And you refused to give me my vessel."

Dean's eyes widened a little. He couldn't imagine the conversation the two of them had had about him, but he could tell that the archangel did not have fond memories of it.

Ellie's mouth twisted slightly. "Yes."

He looked down at Adam's body, walking around behind Dean. "Well, I did find another one, but Dean would have been better, stronger."

"Can't always get what you want." Ellie turned with him, keeping him in sight.

"No." He moved with blinding speed, behind Dean, close to him, arm tight around his neck, pulling his head back, leaving the throat exposed to the long blade that rested against it. "But sometimes you do get what you need."

"What the hell?" Dean felt the archangel's enormous strength crushing him as he struggled against it. "Did you miss the part about us rescuing you?"

Ellie stared at the sword at Dean's throat, then met Michael's eyes. She started walking slowly around him, forcing him to keep turning, pivoting Dean at the same time.

"But now I don't need to be rescued, because now I have the key. And I've been in here for a quite a while, Dean. Alone since my baby brother hooked a ride out with your baby brother."

"Uh –"

"You know what I thought of? I thought about a man, an insignificant little human, who broke the prophesies, and broke destiny and fucked up my last chance to face my brother and kill him as he should have been." Michael looked at Ellie. "And I never thought I'd get the chance to kill that man, but look, here he is."

Dean stopped struggling, concentrating on getting his hand into his pocket without the archangel feeling the movement. His fingers closed around the key and he pulled it out slowly, trying to see where Ellie was through the curtain of red that filmed his eyes.

"Uriel told me that you were some kind of spoiler. Outside destiny, outside Fate. You were supposed to have died as a child? Something like that?"

Ellie saw Dean's hand come out of his pocket and kept her eyes on Michael's face.

"Something like that," she agreed readily.

"He asked me repeatedly to let him kill you, you know." Michael pushed the edge of the blade a little more firmly against Dean's throat, leaving a thin red line.

"Uriel was a dick." Ellie and Dean said at the same time.

"Yes, he was." Michael looked down at the sword. "A lot of them are."

Dean threw the key, an awkward underhand throw with little power. Ellie caught it, closing her hand around it as she watched Michael's eyes widen.

"Give me the key or I'll kill him." The beautiful voice was contorted with rage.

"I thought you were going to kill him anyway?" She stopped moving, standing where she'd started, feeling the bottle in the hand she held behind her light and empty now.

"Fuck you! Give me the key or I'll kill him, raise him up and kill him again!" Michael stared at her furiously, the brilliant eyes narrowed.

Ellie looked down, drawing the lighter from her jacket pocket, flicking it and dropping it in the same motion. Around Michael and Dean a line of fire sprang up, the flames reflected in the smooth surface of the ice.

"Let him go, or you can spend Eternity here on your own." She stared at him coldly, letting her own anger rise to meet his.

Michael looked at the flames surrounding him. His grip shifted on the sword's hilt, and another drop of blood beaded on its edge.

"Let him go, Michael," Ellie said quietly, the edge in her voice as sharp as the blade. "If he dies, so do you."

He wanted to kill the man he held, the one who'd fucked everything up, the whole fucking universe, but he was certain that he would remain in the cage forever if he did. The woman facing him had a will that was as hard and intractable as his own. And he already knew that she would put Dean Winchester ahead of all else, even the survival of the world. She'd done it before, he had no doubt at all that she'd do it again. At best it was a stalemate. At worst, he would lose.

"What makes you think you could protect him if you let me live?"

"What makes you think he needs my protection?" She saw the first crack in his resolve. "Heaven needs you, Michael. Lucifer is with the Princes, and they're looking for a way to bring his power back, but under their control. They will overrun the Earth and destroy everything your Father created if you do not lead the Host against them."

The archangel was silent. Dean felt sweat running into his eyes, the thread of blood trickling down his neck.

"That is your destiny, Michael, to destroy evil, to make sure that the innocence of creation is preserved. Are you really going to throw that destiny away because you're pissed off at one man?"

Michael looked at her for a long moment. This was the second time she'd thwarted him. He wasn't sure how that was possible. He knew about Raphael, knew that his Father had protected her somehow, for some reason that none of them could imagine. She wasn't even in the lines of Destiny, let alone a player. He closed his eyes.

Obedience, above all else, to Heaven.

He let the sword fall, thrusting the man he held away from him. Dean stumbled across the line of fire, his hand pressed against his neck. He turned to look at Michael across the flames.

"She's hard to argue with."

Michael's mouth twisted slightly. "Yes, I noticed."

He looked down at the flames. "Well, are you going to let me out?"

"Are you going to give me your word that you will not try to harm us?"

He looked at her thoughtfully. "You know, there's something about you that is very familiar, but I can't quite place it."

Ellie crossed her arms, waiting.

"Yes, you have my word that I will not try to harm either of you, or yours, from this day forth." He raised an eyebrow. "Is that good enough?"

"Yes." She stepped forward and stood in the holy fire, breaking the circle of oil with her foot, pulling away after a moment as the heat became too intense, her heart slowing, her breath coming harder, then stepping back to complete the break, a small line appearing between her brows.

Michael stepped through the gap, the sword sheathed at his hip. He looked at Ellie sourly.

"Open the damned cage so that we can get on with our lives, would you?"

Ellie threw the key against the wall of ice in front of them, and Dean repeated the incantation of opening.

* * *

_**Blackfoot Glacier, Glacier National Park, Montana.**_

The mountains surrounded them, and a deep blue sky arched overhead. Under their feet crisp, dry powder snow squeaked, a field of virgin white. Dean looked at Ellie, then at Michael.

"Where the hell are we?"

"Standing on Blackfoot Glacier, in Montana." Michael turned to them and smiled, breathing the arctic air rising from the ice deeply. Here, in the open air, he could hear Heaven again, hear the clamour of the angels, hear the deep silence from his Father.

"And bearing that in mind … turn away, or cover your eyes." Adam's body began to glow, and Dean and Ellie turned from him, dropping to their knees on the powdery snow pack, bowing their heads and covering their eyes.

The argent light grew, reflected a million-fold from the snow and ice that surrounded them, then was gone. Dean lowered his arm cautiously, opening an eye.

"He's gone."

Ellie sat back on her heels, tipping her head back. "Well, we did it."

He looked at her and smiled slowly. In spite of everything, in spite of the odds, they had. He got to his feet, holding out his hand. Ellie took it, letting him pull her up. She turned around, seeing Adam's body lying on the snow.

"Crap." Dean crossed to him quickly, lifting his shoulders and looking into the unconscious face of his half-brother. His pulse was strong, his breathing regular, but he was out cold, and Dean thought that when he came to, whatever Adam had been, whatever his personality had been like, that would be gone.

"Cas! Come on, we've done it. We've freed Michael. We need a ride!" He shouted at the sky.

Ellie knelt next to him, lifting Adam's eyelids. The pupils were even, both contracting as the light struck them.

"Thank you." Castiel stood on the snow behind them.

Dean glanced at him, shrugging. "No problem." He looked back at Adam. "Can you heal him?"

Castiel walked to them, kneeling next to Dean. He put his hand over Adam's head, his eyes closing as he looked within. After a moment, Adam's body arched upward convulsively, his skin translucent, glowing, then he slumped and the light died out of his flesh.

Castiel lifted his hand but remained kneeling for a few minutes, a slight frown drawing his brows closer. "I'm not sure that worked."

Dean looked at him. "What do you mean, you're not sure?"

Castiel turned his head. "Physically, Adam is fine. Mentally, he seems intact. Emotionally, he seems stable." He shook his head. "But I'm not sure that what happened, what he went through, has been reintegrated." The angel looked down at man at his feet, his expression uncertain. Dean looked at Ellie questioningly. She shook her head slightly.

Castiel lifted his head and turned to them. "Sam is in Oregon. I assume that's where you want to go?" He looked from Dean to Ellie.

They nodded. Dean picked up Adam, getting him over his shoulder with a couple of shifts. Ellie stood close beside him as Castiel reached out and laid his fingers on their foreheads.

* * *

_**Scotts Mills, Willamette Valley, Oregon**_

Sam was turning away from the kitchen window when he saw them appear. He dropped the cup he was holding, and was out of the door before he registered that he was moving.

Dean stood in the gravelled driveway, with Adam over his shoulder, and he grinned when he saw Sam come pelting out of the house and up the drive.

"I didn't think you'd do it." Sam looked from Dean to Ellie and back.

Dean raised an eyebrow at Ellie. "Didn't think we'd do it."

She nodded. "Complete lack of faith. Shocking."

"Is Adam – is Adam, you know, okay?" Sam looked at the limp form over Dean's shoulder.

"Don't know yet. We think so." He shifted from foot to foot. "He is getting heavy, and since we're just back and you've been lazing around for a while …?"

Sam took their half-brother from Dean's shoulder and turned around to go back into the house. "Spare bedroom?"

Ellie looked around at the people in the yard. "Do we still have a spare bedroom?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, these guys have the place next door."

Dean looked around. "Seems quiet enough."

"Famous last words. I'm dying for a shower."

"Yeah, me too." He looked down at his clothes, torn and bloodied, reeking with the overpowering scent of brimstone. "I think I'm gonna have to throw these out."

* * *

Ellie leaned back against his chest, her eyes closed, steam rising from the surface of the hot water to wreathe around them.

"I could stay here for a long time," she murmured, as his hands slid around her.

"No argument." His head was tipped back, resting against the lip of the tub. It would be too easy to fall asleep here, he thought, the tiredness in his body seeping away into the warm, fragrant water, her skin sliding against his.

His thoughts drifted, peaceful for a while then bumping against the question, the question that he had no answer for. Right up until the second he'd abandoned Meg and the circle to go to help his brother, he'd thought he'd known the answer, thought it was a done deal that his priorities had changed. But since then, he wasn't as certain.

His whole life, he'd been his brother's protector, the one who'd made sure – or tried to make sure, he amended – that Sam lived. It was only very recently that he'd realised that he didn't want that job any more. And very, very recently that he thought his family, Ellie and the child she carried, took priority, every time, over his brother. But when it came down to it, would he act out of habit or would he chose the woman he loved?

He didn't know. Not for sure. And the only way he'd really be sure was if that test presented itself. He felt a shiver run up his spine at the thought of that, and pushed the thoughts away again.

Ellie felt the tension in him. "You okay?"

He lifted his head. "Yeah, just …," he hesitated, debating with himself over whether to tell her the truth, or fudge it, just a little. "Just a bad memory."

She rolled over in the warm water, slipping her arms around his neck, looking into his eyes. He wondered if she could see that lie in them, feel it between them. He bent his head toward her and kissed her, his arms tightening around her. It was the first real lie he'd told her, and he wasn't sure why he'd done it. To protect her? Or himself?

Ellie deepened the kiss hungrily, and he forgot about his doubt, sliding deeper under the water as he pulled her closer, desire and need crowding out his thoughts.

* * *

_**Three hours later.**_

Dean found Ellie sitting on the window ledge of their room, her legs drawn up and arms wrapped them, chin resting on her forearms as she looked over the valley below.

"I'm sorry about Pen." He walked to over to her, seeing how remote her eyes were.

She nodded, her gaze remaining on the valley.

"Do you, uh, need some time alone?" He sat on the bed, unsure of her feelings, what she wanted.

She turned to him slowly. She'd always with dealt with her sorrow on her own. She wasn't sure it was fair on others, especially the man beside her, to have to bear the burden of her feelings. But she wanted some comfort now, some warmth to stop the cold from spreading inside of her.

She unfolded herself from the ledge and sat beside him, letting him pull her down until they were lying on the bed, feeling his arms encircle her with warmth, his breath on her hair. Here was where she felt the safest, right here, against this man, hearing his heart beating beneath her cheek. She thought of Pen, and her tears came, weeping for the friend who'd helped her, the fallen angel who'd truly wanted humanity to succeed.

Dean felt the tears as they soaked through his shirt. He shifted slightly next to her, his cheek against her temple, his hand stroking her back, trying to lessen the pain. He'd buried too much of his own grief to not know what it felt like, that pain. It had only been when she held him that the pain had gone.

Gradually, she stilled, and he could feel the tension loosen in her shoulders, in her neck.

"That was some speech you gave Michael," he said softly. He felt her cheek lift against his neck as she smiled.

"It worked, didn't it?"

"Yeah, hey I was impressed." He looked down at her. "Did you tell him to shove it, when he asked you to get me for him?"

"Not in those words, but more or less." She turned her head, moving a little to look at him. "He wanted to bargain. I don't bargain."

He snorted softly.

"You know what I'm gonna remember about you when I'm ninety?"

"No, what?"

"Lighting that holy fire, staring an archangel in the eye and telling him to let me go or you'd let him rot in there."

"That's what you're gonna remember?" She looked at him.

"Yeah."

"What about this?" She touched him lightly. "Or this? Or the time we did –"

He leaned down, his mouth just brushing hers, stopping her words. "Yeah, well, that too."


	32. Chapter 32 Plans and Prophecies

**Chapter 32**

* * *

_**Scotts Mills, Willamette Valley, Oregon**_

Dean stretched out in the chair on the back porch, looking out over the valley as the westering sun painted the landscape with soft gold light. The trees were beginning to turn, the long pastures in the fields were a deep yellow, long past haying time, and the warm, rich colours contrasted sharply against the darkness of the forest that fringed the ridge.

He looked up at Sam's footsteps, taking the proffered beer with a murmur of thanks.

"So … what's next?" Sam sat down in the chair next to him. Dean shrugged.

"I could stand this for a while." He gestured at the view in front of them.

"Yeah, who couldn't, but uh, leviathans, Hell, all that … it's not going away."

"No." He tipped the bottle into his mouth and swallowed. "Frank found a lab. In Tennessee."

"Good, I guess." Sam looked at him. "You don't sound very enthusiastic."

His brother shrugged. "No, we had to get moving on it."

"Does it check out? No private investors?"

"Pure government." He smiled slightly. "Which makes Frank more nervous, but it wasn't like there was a choice."

Sam nodded. "What about Roman's labs and research centres?"

"Ah, yeah. Ellie and Baraquiel have been talking about it. They think we should get into a bit of domestic terrorism."

Sam leaned back. "It won't stop them. Not with Roman's bankroll."

"No, but it'll slow them down." He finished the beer and put the bottle on the floor beside him. "And we have to destroy that fertility bowl."

Sam turned his head to look at his brother, hearing an edge in his voice. "What's the problem?"

Dean looked away. Sam's brow creased as he stared at his brother's profile, then he started to smile. "Oh."

"She's seven and a half months, man." He rubbed a hand over his face. "She needs to be here, safe, staying put."

Sam nodded. "Do we know where they're keeping it?"

"Wisconsin. The building that's half-finished."

"We'll take care of that." Sam thought about who would be best for the sabotage that would require. "Won't take too many."

Dean looked at him. "That would help."

"Sure."

They watched the light deepen in colour over the valley in silence for a while. Sam realised it had been a long time since he'd sat with his brother, just them, doing this. And he couldn't remember too many times when they'd done it without the car. Their life, that life, seemed distant now. That morning he'd woken, in a bed, in a room he'd been sleeping in for two months now, with Trish stretched out beside him, feeling a warm rush of contentment that he thought he hadn't felt since … college. Since Jess.

"Uh …" Dean looked over at Sam. "I talked to the, uh, padre down at the church out of town."

Sam turned his head, forehead creasing as he saw the nervousness in his brother's face. "What about?"

"Um, about getting … uh … married there."

Sam smiled, suddenly understanding the look in Dean's eyes. "Okay, about time."

"Yeah." Dean ducked his head. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do next."

The smile broadened. "You don't want to leave it to Ellie?"

Dean's mouth twisted. "She's not that interested. She suggested the courthouse."

"Uh huh." Sam's eyebrows rose. "And you want … something … more romantic?"

"Well, you know." He looked away, shrugging uncomfortably. "We don't have much time so nothing fancy, but yeah, if you're … uh … gonna be a bear, you should be … uh, a grizzly."

Sam nodded, biting his lip. "Dude, you keep on surprising me."

"Shut up." He took a deep breath. "I figured you've done this before –"

"Under duress!"

"Yeah, well, I want you to … you know, stand up with me … and uh, give me a hand with whatever needs to be done next." He exhaled gustily, shaking his head. This was turning into one of the more awkward conversations of his life.

"Sure." Sam finished his beer. "How, um, far were you thinking of going?"

Dean spread his hands helplessly. "That's what I don't know! What are we talking about here?"

"Well, flowers, I guess. And the rings. And, uh, what do you call it? A … reception?"

"Yeah, okay, now I'm actually sweating." Dean wiped his palms down the legs of his jeans and looked at Sam, his eyes wide.

Sam snorted. "You sure you want to do this?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." He ducked his head. "I just …"

"I'll talk to Tricia, okay?" Sam grinned. It really wasn't that often he saw his brother forced into admitting that under the bad-ass exterior, there was a closet romantic hiding away. "We'll get a list and sort it out. When did you want this to happen?"

"I thought maybe the weekend?"

Sam shook his head. "Doubtful. That's only three days. I'll get back to you."

The door behind them opened and they both turned. Adam walked out slowly, looking over the view, nodding to them.

"Hey, how're you feeling?" Sam looked at him.

"Ah … a bit weird, but you know, okay."

Dean and Sam looked at each other.

"No nightmares? Bad memories?" Dean asked, watching his half-brother closely.

"No." Adam turned to them, leaning against the railing of the porch. "Michael, uh, kept me out of most of it." His gaze rested on Sam for a moment, then went back to Dean.

Sam felt a prickle of unease. There had been some look, almost like speculation, in Adam's eyes for a second.

"Good. Maybe not such a dick." Dean got to his feet, picking up his bottle. "You had something to eat?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Sam, could you talk to Trish about, you know, that thing?" Dean looked down at him, a brow lifted slightly.

"Yeah. I'll do it now." Sam got up and nodded to Adam, walking back into the house.

"So, what's happening?" Adam looked at Dean curiously. "I've been out of it for a while."

"Yeah. Sit down, I'll get us a couple of beers and fill you in." Dean gestured to the chairs and walked back inside the house. He didn't know Adam that well, had seen him mostly under strain, but there was something that wasn't quite right. He shrugged inwardly. Kid had been an angel condom for the last two years, no one was coming out of that with everything functioning at full throttle.

* * *

Ellie stirred the sauce a little, a small crease between her brows as she considered what else it needed. She felt arms slide around her from behind, felt the solid chest against her back and leaned into him slightly.

"Hey."

"Hmm … what's for dinner?" Dean looked over her shoulder at the gently bubbling sauce on the stove.

"Pasta."

He looked at the enormous pot of sauce. "That's a lot for five."

"Yeah, we've got company tonight. Frank, Twist, Dwight and Baraquiel are joining us." She looked down at his hands resting on the pronounced bulge in her middle. "We've got to get moving on what the leviathans are doing."

"Huh." He bent his head to kiss her neck. "I talked to Sam about it. He's going to take a team to Wisconsin."

"Is he?"

He smiled a little at the tone in her voice. "Yeah, sorry, he begged me for the job, couldn't wait to get over there and blow things up."

She snorted softly. "Liar."

"Don't tell me you can climb around rooftops with this." Dean slid his hands over her belly. "Whoa!"

He pulled his hand away as if he'd been stung, peering down over her shoulder at the bulge.

"Your son doesn't agree with you." She smiled, smoothing her hand over her skin. She'd felt the kick too, from the inside.

He put his hand back cautiously, flinching but leaving it there as he felt another movement.

"How long has he been doing that?"

"That strong? Just today. But he's been moving around for a while."

Dean closed his eyes, feeling the movements through his hands, a peculiar sensation building his chest. Ellie felt his exhale against her neck.

"You can check it out later." She turned in his arms, looking up at him. "It's kind of _Alien_-freaky to watch though."

He opened his eyes and looked down at her, trying to smile at the comment. It didn't quite make it, he couldn't lighten this moment, this feeling that was crowding every thought out.

Ellie saw it in his eyes and put her arms around him. "Amazing, huh?"

"Yeah." He took a deep breath, struggling to find words for something that couldn't be described, at least not by him. Everything he thought of sounded trivial or trite. He kissed her instead, a deepening kiss, filled with passion, that expressed his feelings much more accurately.

"In the kitchen? Come on, you two, get a room." Tricia walked in, Sam following her. Dean lifted his head and glared at them. Ellie smiled, turning back to the sauce.

"The guys are here, when do you want to eat?" Tricia walked over to the stove.

"Um, it'll be ready in fifteen minutes." Ellie got the pasta shells from the jar and tipped them into the boiling water.

Dean stepped back, watching the two women move around the kitchen efficiently. He looked at Sam and shook his head.

"Think we're redundant in here."

* * *

"You mean, like cells, like Cold War stuff?" Twist looked at Ellie curiously. She nodded.

"Two hunters, a Watcher, a nephilim. Each cell has a specific task. No cell knows what the others are doing."

Frank looked around the table. "There are fourteen so-called research centres that Roman has set up so far. We don't know what they're doing, we don't know if they're involved with the virus or if they're working on the Biggerson's formula. But that doesn't matter, the more we can slow them down, the better off we'll be."

"Cas said that Michael told him that the Princes are looking for a way to bring Lucifer back to his power." Dean looked at them. "From what we heard in Hell, that means they're looking for a specific soul."

Tricia frowned. "How are we going to know how to find the soul?"

"We won't." Baraquiel shook his head. "There are too many possibilities."

"But it has to be a nephilim, right?" Sam looked at Dean and Ellie. "What you heard was that the child had to have an angel's powers?"

Baraquiel looked at him. "Not necessarily, any human descended from an angel, from the nephilim, will serve as well. Pen had been looking into the legends about Lucifer's rising for a long time, and he told me that it was the lines that were important."

"But that still has to be pretty limited, right?" Sam looked at him.

"Nearly every hunting family is descended from an angel, Sam," Baraquiel said quietly. "Those powers reside in your family, in Twist's," he looked around the table, "in Tricia's … that's why you survived, why you're successful at what you do."

Dean and Sam exchanged a look. They'd known about their own heritage. It had been why they were chosen as vessels.

"How do we find out who's got the angel genes and who doesn't?" Dean looked at Frank.

"No idea. Ask your feathered friend, maybe?"

_Another thing to talk to Cas about_, he thought. He'd call him tomorrow.

Ellie rubbed her temple absently. "Alright, there's not much we can do about that until they make a move. Sam, can you get the teams together for the leviathan's research centres?"

He nodded.

Ellie turned to Frank. "The schematics aren't going to be difficult to get for that building in Wisconsin, are they?"

"No."

"What about surveillance? Can we tap into theirs and see what they're doing there?"

"I think so. It'll need some work done around there, but I've been working on a very sensitive signal interface, and I think most of it can be implemented remotely." He looked around the table. "I'll need a couple of volunteers to do the grunt work."

Dwight nodded. "I'll go. Sariel and Oran can come with me."

Sam looked at Twist. "We'll sort out the cells and do the break downs on the other centres." He glanced sideways at his brother. "Aim to be on the road early next week."

"Anything else?" Ellie looked around the table. "Baraquiel, could I speak to you?"

She got up and walked out of the dining room. Baraquiel nodded to everyone and rose to follow her. Dean watched them leave, brows drawing together slightly. He glanced at Sam who shrugged.

"What about me?" Adam turned to Sam and Dean.

Sam looked at him for a moment. "Uh, yeah, if you're feeling okay, you should probably start training with the nephilim."

Dean's mouth twisted slightly. "You could go back to college, Adam."

Adam's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "I think it's a bit late for that, Dean. I'd rather fight."

"This research of Pen's – where is it?" Ellie sat on the edge of the armchair and looked at the Watcher.

"I have some of it here, the rest we had to leave behind," Baraquiel said.

"In Palestine? Or Jordan?"

"Jordan." His eyes narrowed slightly. "You can't retrieve it now. The Others made sure that we could not go back."

She shook her head. "I can't fly anyway. I'd like to see what you brought though."

He inclined his head. "I'll bring it over here tomorrow."

"Did Pen say if he found out how Lucifer could be ensouled?" She closed her eyes for a moment, missing the Watcher, wishing she'd had the time to ask him about this herself. "Or any of the details that might help us?"

Baraquiel shook his head. "Castiel might know more about it. Pen said that the ritual had been lost for over two thousand years. No one still alive knows it. Except possibly the Princes."

He turned as Dean came into the room, then looked back at her. "I'll bring the books tomorrow. Perhaps with what you've already discovered, something will fall into place."

She nodded. "Thank you."

Dean nodded to the Watcher as he left the room, then walked over to Ellie, crouching in front of her.

"What was that about?"

"Pen's research on Lucifer." She sighed. "Most of it is still in Jordan, apparently, but I want to see what he found out. Maybe we can get ahead of them, just for once."

Dean stood, holding his hand to her. "Yeah, I wouldn't hold your breath for that."

She nodded, taking it and letting him pull her up. "No, wasn't thinking of going that far."

He looked down at her. "Another thing to ask Cas about?"

"Getting to be quite a list," she agreed. "When do you want to call him?"

"Tomorrow." He put his arm around her waist as they walked out of the room.

* * *

Ellie rinsed the plates and stacked them in the dishwasher as they were brought in. She looked up, aware of Tricia hovering beside her.

"What's up?"

Tricia looked at the doorway. "I thought you'd better have a heads' up. Sam says that Dean wants to have a wedding."

Ellie straightened up, leaning against the counter and raising an eyebrow. "Mmm … he mentioned something about it."

"Well, he's talked to the priest of that little church down near town, and Sam asked me to help organise it. So I thought I'd better ask you if there was anything you wanted."

Ellie smiled. "Is it going to be a surprise wedding?"

"God, I hope not because I've just spoiled the surprise, haven't I?" Tricia snorted. "So, what do you want?"

"Trish, to be honest, I'm just not into this sort of thing." She looked around the kitchen for anything else to go in the cycle, then closed the door and started the machine. "I told Dean that the courthouse would be fine with me."

"Come on, Ellie, stop being a spoilsport. He wants to do the romantic thing, at least give me something – flowers? Dress? Reception?"

Ellie sighed. "Alright, if I have to do this, then let's be practical about it. Will you be the maid of honour?"

"Love to."

"Good. Do we really need flowers or that stuff? I thought I could just wear something comfortable?"

"No way. I'll find the dress, leave that to me." She looked critically down Ellie's body, nodding to herself. "Flowers … they make a church look nicer. Maybe simple ones. What about the reception?"

"Reception … really? For just us?"

"Well, how about … the back room of the Acorn, in town. Just a simple dinner and some music? Even with 'just us' we're talking twenty, thirty people, too big for this place."

"That sounds about bearable. No speeches, no fuss – no fancy cake, something that everyone can eat?"

"Yep, I can do that." Tricia grinned at her. "This is the first time I've ever seen the bride more disinterested than the groom."

Ellie grimaced. "Ugh. Stop it. It's not a show."

"Got it. No more soppy wedding words. I'll send out a memo, let everyone know."

"See? Now you're making me sweat." She looked down at her palms irritably. "Simple. No fuss. That's my criteria."

"Okay." She looked down at Ellie. "What's your song?"

"My song?"

"You know, for the bri– I mean the slow dance. Don't you guys have a song?"

Ellie rolled her eyes. "Highway to Hell seems appropriate."

"Not a chance. A slow song. Romantic."

She thought for a moment, then shook her head. "Ask Dean about it."

* * *

She was tempted to nail him about the wedding plans when she came back into the bedroom, but decided against it. It wasn't that often that either of them got to be a bit romantic, she shouldn't blow it off just because it seemed like a lot of effort. _Admit it_, she thought, _you like that he wants it to be a bit special_. The thought brought a smile.

Dean lay on his side, watching her walk toward him. He'd never imagined a pregnant woman could be sexy, but she so was … her skin glowed, her hair gleamed in the soft light as it fell around her shoulders and over her full, round breasts, the smooth curve of the baby bulge making her seem like a goddess, one of those ancient fertility goddesses from which all life came. He moved back as she came to the bed and lay down next to him, rolling over to face him.

The baby kicked and she looked down at the movement under her skin. Dean's gaze followed hers and his eyes widened, lifting his hand to rest his fingertips over her skin, as the foot pushed out again.

She looked at his expression and laughed softly. "Told you."

"It's not … yeah, okay, it's a little bit freaky." He smiled uncertainly. "What does that feel like from the inside?"

"Uh … like it looks, I guess. It doesn't hurt, if that's what you mean."

"Any, uh, discomfort yet?"

She looked at him, exasperated. "Stop reading those sites, okay? No. No indigestion, no discomfort, no back pain … all okay."

He looked at her, the corner of his mouth tucked in. "Come on, you're doing all the hard work, I just want to be able to help if I can."

"Wait until labour."

He winced. "That was a low blow."

"Yeah." She slipped her arm around his neck. "How bout we put the little guy to sleep now?"

"You mean … rock the boat?"

"That's what I mean."

"You still want me." He shifted onto his elbow, looking down at her, his smile widening.

"So much so that I'll start without you if you don't get moving."


	33. Chapter 33 Those Were My Good Times

**Chapter 33**

* * *

"Cas, it's me, praying to Castiel … come on down, man, we need to talk."

Dean opened an eye and looked around hopefully. He stood in the garden, down from the house, in the first thin drifts of leaves from the oaks.

"Dean, we are trying to prepare an army."

"Huh." He swung around, looking at the angel. "Yeah, I know. Need some help."

"With what?"

"Uh, firstly, can you make it to the church down near town on Sunday?" Dean walked toward him.

Castiel looked at him. "You really don't understand the definition of 'war', do you?"

"C'mon man, I'm asking a favour."

"For what reason?"

"To, uh, come to my wedding. Maybe give the bride away?" Dean looked at him with a hopeful smile.

"Give her away to whom?" Castiel frowned at him.

"To me, I guess." He shrugged. He hadn't really thought about that.

Castiel closed his eyes and nodded. "Yes, if it doesn't take too long."

"Great." He looked up at the house. "Uh, Ellie has a couple of questions, and we needed to know if you know anything about Lucifer being ensouled?"

Castiel stopped and looked at him. "What?"

"Ensouled. Having a soul put into him. Or him taking over a soul. Whatever."

"Why are you asking this?"

"Because it's what we heard down in Hell when two of the fallen were talking about bringing back the devil's powers."

"The Princes were talking about a soul – for Lucifer?"

Dean looked at him. "Didn't I just say that?"

"Alright." He followed Dean up to the house.

* * *

Ellie and Baraquiel looked up from the piles of notes, journals and book on the table as they entered the room.

"Cas."

"Ellie, you are well?" He looked down at the curve of her stomach. "That doesn't look comfortable."

She smiled. "It's fine at the moment, I'll let you know in a few more weeks."

He turned to Baraquiel, gesturing at the documents. "This is Penemue's research, on Lucifer?"

The Watcher nodded.

"And he said that Lucifer was to acquire a soul?" Castiel looked down at the files. "The Princes are looking for a soul?"

"The Princes spoke of a soul with an angel's powers." Ellie looked from Baraquiel to Castiel. "Angel ancestry."

Castiel pulled out the chair next to Baraquiel and sank into it, looking down at the table. "It's just a myth, even in Heaven."

"What myth, Cas?" Dean stood next to Ellie.

The angel looked up at him. "That after a thousand years, when God's punishment had finished, the Morning Star would rise but fail to regain his power, would only be able to crawl around on the earth, like a worm." Castiel looked away. "And his power could only be returned if he could take a soul that had an angel's power."

"But angels don't have souls."

"Their children do. And all the generations born to those children do. And they have the powers of an angel. To a greater or lesser degree."

"How do we tell who has angel ancestors, Cas?" Dean stared at him.

He shook his head. "The holy oil. A full blood angel will die. But a nephilim or anyone descended from the nephilim will be burned. Not killed but marked. Pure humans are untouched by the fire."

Baraquiel nodded, frowning. "Yes. I should have thought of that."

"Does the myth say what the ritual is, Cas?" Ellie leaned forward. "For taking the soul? Is it mentioned anywhere in the histories of Heaven?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. No angel would use that ritual. It is an abomination." He looked at her. "I'll ask Michael."

"I need the rest of the research materials Pen was using. In Jordan." She looked at him. He nodded and the papers stirred on the table as the air rushed back to fill the place he'd been sitting.

"We won't be able to find the soul that the Princes were talking of." Baraquiel looked from Ellie to Dean. "There could be millions."

Ellie's brow creased. "No, they had a single specific soul in mind." She looked up at Dean. "Didn't you get that impression? That they already knew the soul they were looking for? That they needed?"

He nodded. "Yeah, that's what it sounded like to me."

"So there must be other criteria, something we don't know, something that isn't necessarily in the myth."

"Then we'll never find it." Baraquiel shook his head. "That myth is all that's left of those times."

"You know, there's an outside chance the Colt would kill Lucifer now, because he's weakened." Dean sat down next to Ellie.

"Possibly. What did he say, specifically, about the Colt when you tried to kill him?"

"I was out cold at the time. He told Sam that there were only five things in, uh, all of creation that the gun couldn't kill. He was one of them."

"I'm willing to bet that Jesse is another. And God, and Death and probably Michael," she said thoughtfully.

"Yeah, Jesse said it couldn't hurt him."

"But it could kill the other Fallen. Or any of the seraphim. Maybe just not the archangels."

"Or maybe Lucifer was making it up as he went," Dean said sourly. "He did that, you know, threw in lies along with the truth."

"The Prince of Lies." She smiled ruefully at him. "This might all be academic unless there's more we can find out about the ritual."

Castiel reappeared. Surrounding him and filling the room from end to end were hundreds of boxes, baskets and chests. "I believe this is all of it."

He looked at Dean. "Was there anything else, because I must return now."

"No, no. See you on Sunday."

The sound of wings was loud in the much reduced space of the room. Ellie turned to Dean. "What's Sunday?"

He looked at her innocently, lifting his shoulders slightly. "Did I say Sunday? I meant, you know, whenever."

* * *

Frank handed Sam the map, and a thick file. "They're all there. Along with what could I find on what they're doing there."

Sam spread it out on the table, sighing as he saw the distances. "This'll take a while."

Frank turned to Dwight. "I'll be heading out now. I'll see you in Wisconsin."

"Yeah. We'll be there."

Frank walked out, heading down to the Airstream. In a few minutes, the pickup roared into life and the Airstream followed it up the driveway at a stately walking pace.

"When do you want to get started on these?" Dwight looked down at the map.

"How many teams could we field right now?"

"Two. Maybe three if I can ever get hold of Katherine." He rubbed his jaw. "We lost a lot of hunters over the last couple of years – weird monsters, vengeful ghosts, demons everywhere, and the levis. And I think there are some out there who are just keeping their heads down."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I know Ellie's been trying to get in touch with old friends as well. But we might have to face the fact that we're pretty much it."

"There's a cheery thought."

"Yeah. We'll head out on Monday and Tuesday. Give us a bit more time training the nephilim and see if you can get in touch with anyone."

Dwight shrugged. "Yep, okay. You and Tricia should take Chaz and Anina. They already work well together and they've both learned fast. Twist and Garth are taking Shamsiel and Idan. The rest will be on rotational training here with Ellie and Dean for a while."

Sam smiled slightly, and looked at Dwight, seeing the same glint of humour is the older man's eyes. No one had told Ellie about this yet.

"Don't get yourself killed working with Frank, okay?"

"Do my best." Dwight grinned and left to find his team.

* * *

Dean watched Adam as he circled Sima. Michael had imparted some combat knowledge to his vessel; a knowledge of tactics, of strategy against an opponent, of how to gauge strength and weakness. But it wasn't enough, in Dean's opinion. His brother needed to actually get dirty, get experience. The nephilim was taller, heavier, perhaps not quite as fast, he thought critically. Both were balanced, used to using their weight and knowing where it was in relation to what they had to do.

"Anytime would be fine," he called out derisively. Neither looked at him, they were concentrating on finding an opening.

Adam moved in, aiming a blow for Sima's ribs. His forearm was swept aside as Sima turned, and he had to duck fast as the nephilim's elbow brushed over the top of his head. He staggered slightly, dropping to one knee and rolling backwards out of reach as Sima moved to take advantage.

"Yeah, okay. Look, this is all just awesome, but it's not getting the job done." Dean held up his hands and walked in between them. "You're facing a bad guy. Just get rid of him. Keep pushing until he goes down."

He swung toward Sima suddenly, his head jerking to one side slightly as the nephilim's fist came toward him, letting it pass by, turning as his fist jabbed into Sima's torso, past the blocking forearm. He dropped his shoulder and used the impetus of the continuing turn to drive his elbow into the nephilim's jaw, packing his weight behind it. Sima staggered back and Dean closed in again, his gaze almost unfocussed as he let his senses anticipate the moves coming toward him, automatically calculating distance, force required, balance and speed. Sima managed to get under his defence for a second, and he twisted away from the blow, riding it then dropping to the ground and scything the nephilim's leg from under him.

"You can't keep waiting for a good opening." He extended his hand to Sima, pulling him to his feet as he turned to Adam. "You have to make an opening and run with it."

He stepped back, and waved his hand. "Try again."

* * *

Sam and Twist watched the targets as their students fired shot after shot into them.

"They're accurate."

Twist glanced at him. "Yeah, they're good enough with the targets. Not sure how they'll do when it's the real thing."

"We could set something up in the forest." Sam shook his head. "We should anyway. Use something non-lethal, but put them into hostile situations, where they'll have to act on the fly."

"Blanks?"

"No. You can't tell if you've hit or missed." His brow creased as an old memory scratched at him.

"Something like paint-ball, maybe?" Twist raised his hand as the nephilim and Watchers finished their rounds.

"Yeah." Sam grinned, remembering a summer a long time ago. "Exactly."

Twist nodded. "I'll get down to Corvallis on Monday."

Sam shook his head. "Trish went to Portland. She can find some gear for us."

* * *

Tricia rubbed her eyes as she drove back up into the mountains. It wasn't a long drive, just an hour, but she'd spent the day looking through the shops for what she wanted and all the walking around with other people, after the relative solitude of their base, was tiring.

She pulled into the driveway just on dusk, and dragged Sam down to the car to help with the bags. She'd found a place that specialised in paint-ball gear, and had picked up the markers, pods and harness second-hand there. Sam took the bags and sorted through the equipment. Most of the markers were a similar weight to the guns they'd been using. The main thing was to get them out, thinking on their feet, against opponents, instead shooting at static targets.

Tricia sat on her bed, surrounded by the rest of her acquisitions and looked down her list. The flowers were taken care of, the rings were ready, she'd booked the Acorn and a local part-time DJ for the evening. She stretched contentedly and got up, heading downstairs to find Dean. He was sitting in the kitchen, guns, gun oil and solvent over the table.

"Okay, it's all organised. Four p.m. before evening mass on Sunday."

Dean raised his brows. "Wow. You're good."

"I am. Don't forget it."

"Can you, uh, let Ellie know?" He smiled coaxingly at her. She shook her head.

"Nope. Sorry, that's your thing."

He looked away. "Yeah, okay."

"Oh, there was one more thing. A song. Your song."

He looked blankly at her. "A song?"

Tricia sighed. "Don't you two know anything about weddings? I need your favourite song, or a song that means something to you, slow enough to do the bride and groom's first dance together as man and wife."

"Oh." Favourite song was easy, but it wasn't a slow dance song. He thought through songs that they both had, both liked. They'd listened to enough on the way down to Kansas and back. There was one. He knew she liked it because it had been in her collection in the truck, and if he recalled correctly, it had made her cry when she'd heard it. He hesitated, unsure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. "Uh, Ready for Love, I think. Bad Company."

Tricia nodded. "I'll try and find it."

"Ellie's got it. In the pickup. Or there's a copy in the … uh," He tried to think of what the hell he was driving at the moment, "in whatever I'm driving."

"Great." She smiled. "You're all set then."

"Thanks."

He looked down at the barrel he was cleaning. _Slow dance? In front of people?_

* * *

Ellie sat at the end of the living room, lightly coated in red dust from the boxes, going through the research materials Cas had retrieved from Jordan. She thought she might be finished by the time the baby she was carrying went to college.

Much of it was ancient, fragile and written in the original cuneiform or primitive languages of the tribes who'd lived in the fertile lands between the Euphrates and Tigris Rivers thousands of years ago. She thought that they could probably all retire and live like millionaires if she sold a fraction of these to private collectors. It was a shame they were all much more valuable to them right here.

So far, what she'd been through was only a couple of thousand years old. She thought she would have to go a lot further back to find any information on what they needed. The problem with flood was that it destroyed most records almost as thoroughly as fire.

Dean picked his way through the heaped piles, finding her almost hidden behind a wall of boxes and chests, a single lamp burning and casting a pool of light over the table where she worked.

"Having fun?"

She grimaced. "Are you the relief shift?"

He looked around, a corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "If only I could read ancient ... what's this? Babylonian? Sumerian?"

She peered over the pile in front of her at what he was looking at. "Akkadian."

"Akkadian." He spread his hands out helplessly.

"Your education was sorely lacking." She huffed at the strand of hair that was hanging over her eyes and looked at her watch. "Have I missed dinner again?"

"No." He eased his way around the table and sat down next to her. "Frank's gone and Dwight's leaving tonight with Sariel and Oran."

"Good. Although for the record, I think it would be better if we went to Wisconsin to look for that fertility bowl."

"You just don't like delegating."

"Neither do you, usually," she retorted, picking up a journal, written in Pen's even hand in a mixture of English, Latin and Enochian.

"Now I do." He leaned close to her. "Now, I have something more important to do here."

She turned to him, looking into his eyes. "Are you trying to sweet-talk me?"

He laughed, and got up. "Don't make plans for Sunday."

"Why not?" She looked up at him, guessing what he had planned for Sunday.

"We've got an appointment with the padre, down at the church."

"In relation to…?"

"Getting hitched." He turned and walked back through the boxes, threading his way back out of the room, smiling as he heard her snort of laughter behind him.

* * *

Dean nodded as Sam outlined the idea for the forest training. "Yeah, that'll work. Do we start off one against one or in teams?"

"Individually to begin with. Then with a partner. Finally, with a team, I think." Sam ran his hand through his hair impatiently. "You'll be on your own with this, although Dwight said he got hold of Katherine before he left. She's in Nevada, should be here tonight or early tomorrow morning."

"That's okay." He leaned back in the chair, rotating his shoulder slightly. "By the time Frank and Dwight get back we should have more useful people for them, and they can help out with the other labs."

Sam looked over at him. "Doesn't feel much like hunting, does it?"

"No. More like we're in the army." Dean shrugged. "Whatever. We need time. Time to get the virus developed."

"Yeah. How's Ellie doing with Pen's research?"

"Slow going. She's got Bezaliel helping." He rubbed his hand over his face. "I wouldn't count on getting intel from it by the time we need it."

"No. Yeah, okay." He looked at his brother. "You ready for tomorrow?"

Dean felt his breath catch in his throat. He'd been alternating between anticipation and terror whenever he remembered what was happening tomorrow. The part of him that still longed for family, for love and a life that wasn't filled with death and grief, was looking forward to the utter normalcy of the event, even if he did have to wear a penguin suit. The hunter in him, on the other hand, wished he'd never thought of it, it felt too exposed, too normal to even contemplate, especially now, juxtaposed between training half-breed angels and fallen angels in combat and weaponry, sending people out to bomb research centres, and worrying what the new management in Hell were doing to lift Lucifer to power again.

"Uh, yeah." He nodded. "It's no big. Just a formality, right?"

Sam looked at him uncertainly. "Uh, dude, you're getting married. You're going to have a kid in a couple of months. How is that no big?"

Dean's skin paled a little under his freckles. "Thanks for that."

* * *

"Bobby?" Dean sat on the porch, the flask on the table beside him. "You there?"

The temperature dropped, slowly at first, then suddenly as Bobby manifested in the chair beside him.

"Yeah?"

Dean shook his head. "Uh … I wanted to ask you something … personal."

Bobby sighed. "Okay, spit it out."

"Did you, uh, like being married?" He glanced sideways at the ghost.

"You getting cold feet?"

"No. No. I don't think that's it." He leaned back in his chair. "I … just don't know if it's, you know, the right thing to do right now, with everything that's going on."

Bobby looked at him. "When I met Karen, she was all I could think about. Took me four months and about twenty dates to work up the nerve to ask her to marry me, though I knew from the beginning that I would." He moved to the railing of the porch. "When the priest said 'you can kiss the bride' … that was the happiest moment of my whole life."

He looked back at Dean. "I can't even begin to describe to you what it felt like that she said yes. That she loved me."

Dean looked down at the floor, the memory of his proposal flashing into his mind. "Yeah. No, I know what it feels like."

"Times were different then. Didn't do the living together thing, so maybe that was a part of it. But while there's lots of things I'd do different if I had the time over, that ain't one of them, Dean. Being married was being free. It was having someone who knew everything about me, even all the worst stuff, and still loved me. It was having someone who I wanted to be with – all the time – more than anything else in the world. Loving someone makes you stronger, makes anything possible. It felt … I felt … like I'd finally become a man, I guess."

"I don't think being married works out unless that's the way you feel." He drifted back to the chair. "People rub each other the wrong way from time to time. Or keep a secret that other one needs to know about. Those kinds of things will destroy a marriage, unless you love each other so much that you can work through 'em."

Dean looked at him, hearing regret in his voice.

"Just before Karen got possessed, we had a fight." Bobby stared into the past. "It was a big one. A really big one."

"What about?" Dean looked at the ghost, at the pain written over his face.

"Bout having kids. She wanted them, and I knew that when I married her. I didn't. But I didn't tell her because I was afraid – I was afraid she wouldn't marry me if I told her. I just let her go on thinking about it for years, until she couldn't wait any longer." Bobby looked at Dean. "It broke her heart. Two days later she was taken."

Dean stared at him, his imagination all too easily giving him a taste of what that had felt like for the spirit beside him.

"You know the worst part?" Bobby's mouth twisted, his lip curling in self-contempt. "When your daddy brought you boys to my place, that first time, and I was looking after you … I realised that I'd been wrong about having kids, about being a father. She'd been right about me, I'd been the one who'd been wrong."

"Why didn't you want to have kids, Bobby?"

"I thought I'd turn out like my dad." Bobby looked down at the boards of the porch. "He was a mean, sonofabitch drunk. Knew he was a failure and took out his disappointment on us. I didn't want to risk turning out like him, didn't want to risk any kid to that."

"You were a great father, Bobby." Dean looked at him, his chest contracting as he saw the pain and doubt in him. "Me and Sam, we wouldn't be the same if hadn't been for you."

The ghost raised his head slowly, a small one-side smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

He sighed. "All those chances are gone now. And yeah, I wish I could do that again. But the years I had with her, being married … those were my good times, Dean." He turned to look at the man sitting beside him, his eyes serious and a little troubled. "My mama said that if you have any doubts, don't do it. Saves you an awful lot of trouble down the line."

Dean looked at him, nodding slowly. "Yeah. Thanks, Bobby."

* * *

Ellie opened an eye as she felt the mattress dip beside her. "Hey, you're up late."

"Just, uh, thinking about stuff, didn't notice the time," Dean's voice was low and uneven behind her.

She rolled over to look at him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine."

"You don't sound fine."

"Are you, um, nervous about tomorrow?" He turned his head to her.

"A bit," she admitted with a smile. "Not about what we're doing, but just … stage fright, I guess. I'm not real keen on doing something so … well, something so intimate, in front of a lot of people, even our people."

"Yeah."

She laid her palm against his cheek. "If you don't want to do it, we don't have to."

He thought about that for a long moment. The trouble was he did want to do it. He really did. He knew that what lay between them, that was the important thing, but he wanted it to be obvious to everyone that that bond was there. That he'd committed to it. That it was unbreakable. He didn't have any doubts about spending the rest of his life with the woman beside him. None at all. He sighed softly.

"I want to do it, Ellie." He smiled in the darkness. "I guess I feel like you do, uncomfortable about being in the spotlight tomorrow."

She shifted up against him, settling against his side, feeling his arm wrap around her. "Too many years of keeping a low profile."

He snorted. _Trying_ to keep a low profile, more like.


	34. Chapter 34 A Promise for a Lifetime

**Chapter 34**

* * *

Dean crouched in the forest, watching the dawn light seep through the trees, listening for sounds that were unnatural in the deep quiet surrounding him. _Snap_. He pressed back against the rough bark of the tree behind him, his head turning slightly as a second rustle came from his right.

Adam's eyes widened as the pellet hit him in the chest, spraying fluorescent pink paint everywhere with the impact. Dean grinned at him, rising from his crouch.

"You're dead." He turned away and slithered down the hillside over the covering of pine needles.

Adam looked down at himself and sighed, dropping to the path and resigning himself to waiting until the end of the game before he could move. _Check everywhere before stepping forward_, he told himself angrily.

* * *

Sam looked at Dean. "I thought that went all right."

"You hit me deliberately." Dean reached up and felt the mess of yellow paint on the back of his head.

"Yeah." His brother grinned. "It'll wash out."

Dean looked at his watch. "It better."

They met up with the trainees on the last junction of the paths leading into the forest, looking over the brightly-coloured hits coating them. For a first try, it really hadn't been that bad, Dean thought. He and Sam and Twist had gotten most of the hits, used to sneaking around in forests chasing monsters, but with more practice, their students would probably be up to speed in a few weeks. They were fit and strong, and there was nothing wrong with their skills.

He fell into step beside Adam, glancing sideways at his half-brother.

"Just practice."

Adam looked at him and nodded. "Yeah, I know."

"Dad made us do this stuff all the time when me and Sam were kids. We grew up with it."

"How was that?" Adam asked casually.

"Hard." Dean flicked a sideways glance at him. "I didn't get any baseball games growing up, just hunting."

Adam heard the edge to Dean's voice. "But he relied on you; he took you with him, kept you with him. You two must have been close."

Dean looked down, trying to unscramble the words from the feelings. "Kind of. He took us with him and then kept himself distant. He couldn't help it, and I know he was doing the best he could, but it … it …" He shook his head, lips compressing. "It wasn't what you're thinking, Adam. He did his best and a lot of the time it fell short."

"You loved him," Adam said quietly. "And he loved you. Sam said that he died for you."

Dean felt his throat close up tightly. All these years and he still couldn't handle it. He nodded and lengthened his stride, leaving Adam behind. He couldn't deal with this today.

* * *

Tricia stood to one side of the full mirror, nodding as she looked at the dress.

Ellie stared at herself in the mirror's reflection. She barely recognised the woman staring back at her. She had to hand it to Tricia; she was certainly good at finding things to suit.

Tricia looked at her critically. The empire-styled dress was very simple in design but rich in detail, and hid the bulge quite adequately, drawing attention to the long column of Ellie's neck, the delicacy of her collarbones, and the fullness of her breasts instead. It was cream silk, panelled loosely with antique cream lace, a style very popular in the twenties. The colour was deep enough to contrast against her skin and hair.

"Well? What do you think?" Tricia walked up to her and stood beside her, looking over her shoulder into the reflection as well.

"It's amazing. How did you find it?"

"Renaissance people in Portland. They hang onto everything." She reached behind and gathered up Ellie's hair, leaving most of it loose but drawing back the front and sides. "I like that. Hang on a minute."

She let the hair fall and went to one of the bags on the bed. "I think that this will do."

The slender cream hair band held sprays of tiny roses, in cream and the palest tints of pink, around its edge. She stood in front of Ellie, brushing back her hair from the front and sides, slipping the band over and studying the effect. The shining copper-red hair was drawn back from her face, the tiny roses framing it. At the back, it fell luxuriantly loose, a foil for both her skin and the dress. "Yep."

Ellie looked at herself. It was a surreal feeling looking at that woman in the mirror, in the beautiful cream gown, her hair lifted and held by the band at the front, loose at the back. It didn't look like her at all. At least not the way she imagined herself looking. She realised suddenly that this was why she hadn't wanted a wedding. The woman looking back at her from the mirror was a mask, not the real her.

Trish watched the small crease appear between Ellie's brows, wondering what was wrong. "You like?"

"Yes. It's gorgeous. Thanks." Ellie turned away from the mirror and faced her friend.

"You'll knock his socks off." Tricia grinned at her. "Makeup?"

"No. Absolutely not." Ellie shook her head. "I don't wear it normally, and I have a habit of rubbing it off when I do."

* * *

The church was old, built at the turn of the previous century, its timbers hardwood cut from the forests that surrounded them. Tricia had come in early with Raz and Anina and Duvsha, and the pews and the altar were covered with fall flowers, roses and lavender and lilac, their scents spreading through the small area.

Dean could feel Sam behind him, his bulk a reassurance that he wouldn't have admitted to with a thousand years of torture. His collar felt too tight. He watched the doorway nervously, listening to the rustling of the congregation, their congregation – Baraquiel and Bezaliel, Idan, Raz and Achina, the Watchers and nephilim filling the pews, Adam, Twist and Garth, with Katherine between them, sitting at the front, looking unfamiliar, and as uncomfortable as he felt, in their badly fitting suits. He felt a slight chill beside him, and knew that Bobby was discreetly present as well. He shifted from foot to foot, his dislike of being watched, being singled out, filling him with an antsiness that felt like a contradiction of his feelings.

His eyes closed for a moment as a deep longing passed through him. He swore mentally at Adam's timing, bringing the spectre of Dad back to him today. He wanted his father there. He wanted his mother there, knowing she would have liked Ellie …

The voices of the nephilim rose sweetly into the church as Castiel and Ellie walked in, the words lost in the harmonies and descant, just a melody that seemed hauntingly familiar.

Dean forgot his nervousness as he stared at her. He couldn't remember ever seeing her in a dress, of any kind. The silk flowed around her as she moved, shimmering as she crossed the squares of sunshine from each window. When she stopped with Cas, a few steps in front of him, she looked up, her face flushed slightly and glowing, her eyes meeting his. He could see the rapid beat of her pulse in the hollow of her throat and the sight reassured him almost as much as the feeling of Sam standing beside him.

Father Dougherty cleared his throat, looking from Dean to Ellie. He didn't know them, didn't even know anything about them really, but he prided himself on recognising real love when he saw it, and he saw it now in the way this couple looked at each other. He looked out over the people seated in his church. His voice was surprisingly rich, the velvet baritone of a stage actor, reaching to the back of the church without effort.

"We are gathered here today in the face of this company, to join together Dean Winchester and Eleanor Katherine Morgan in holy matrimony; which is an honourable and solemn estate and therefore is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently and soberly. If any one can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, let them speak now or forever hold their peace."

He waited for a moment, as custom dictated, then looked down at Castiel, feeling a slight frisson as he met the deep blue eyes of the man who was an angel.

"Who gives this woman to be married to this man?"

"I do." Castiel looked up at Dean, an eyebrow lifting slightly. Dean nodded to him, holding out his hand as Ellie slid her arm free and took it, taking the last few steps to join him in front of the altar.

Father Dougherty looked at Dean. "Dean, do you take Eleanor for your lawful wedded wife, to live in the holy estate of matrimony? Will you love, honour, comfort, and cherish her from this day forward, forsaking all others, keeping only unto her for as long as you both shall live?

He looked into her eyes, his pulse racing. This was it and now that he was here, he realised that it was what he wanted more than anything else, to promise, in front of everyone they knew, how he felt, out loud. "I do."

"Eleanor, do you take Dean for your lawful wedded husband, to live in the holy estate of matrimony? Will you love, honour, comfort, and cherish him from this day forward, forsaking all others, keeping only unto him for as long as you both shall live?

Ellie took a deep breath, feeling the tremble in her fingers as she looked up at the man standing beside her, his eyes on hers, not anticipating her response, but waiting for it, as if he didn't know what she would say. "I do."

Father Dougherty looked at them both, nodding slightly. "Dean, repeat the vows as I speak them." He spoke the vows clearly but softly. Tricia looked past them to Sam, who met her eyes with a slight smile.

Dean looked down at Ellie, feeling his awareness of their surroundings vanish. The words sank into him, their meaning clarifying as he spoke them, a vow he felt he was writing on his soul.

"I, Dean Winchester, take thee Eleanor Katherine Morgan, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, honour, and cherish, 'til death do us part, and thereto I plight thee my troth."

Ellie felt herself becoming lost as he spoke. The church around them receded, the only thing that existed was the man in front of her, his voice, the words he spoke to her, the depth of feeling she could see in his eyes. She felt her throat closing up and bit her lip, pushing aside the emotions that were threatening to overwhelm her, focusing on the words she had to speak, on the promise she was making to him, as if there was no one else there.

"I, Eleanor Katherine Morgan take thee Dean Winchester to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, honour, and cherish, 'til death do us part, and thereto I plight thee my troth."

Sam watched his brother. He'd seen Dean committed, determined, through every emotion and every state of mind. But he knew he'd never seen the expression that he saw now, a resolution that seemed immutable, and yet was filled with joy. He found himself gripped by a yearning for their parents, the father he'd fought against and the mother he'd never known, for them to be here to see this, to watch their eldest son so deeply in love that his commitment was absolute, just as theirs had been.

"The rings." Father Dougherty looked at Sam. "Uh, Sam? The rings."

Sam started slightly, and his hand dove into his pocket, pulling out the pair of rings that Tricia had given him earlier. He handed them to the priest quickly.

"May this ring be blessed so he who gives it and she who wears it may abide in peace, and continue in love until life's end."

Dean took the ring and looked down at Ellie's hand. The emerald ring was, for the moment, on her middle finger. He slid the band on. "With this ring I thee wed. Wear it as a symbol of our love and commitment."

"May this ring be blessed so that she who gives it and he who wears it may abide in peace, and continue in love until life's end."

Ellie took the ring carefully, her fingers numb, sliding it along his finger. She looked up at him, thankful that she'd refused the damned makeup because her eyes were filling with tears, not of sorrow, and not really of happiness, but coming from an ache somewhere inside of her, a feeling she couldn't define, an oddly potent sense that this moment was changing everything, the planets were altering their orbits, the stars were falling from their fixed patterns, the universe was watching them. She swallowed hard against it.

"With this ring I thee wed. Wear it as a symbol of our love and commitment."

The priest turned to the church, taking a deeper breath. He'd performed six hundred and eighty three marriages in this church, he thought dazedly, and he'd never had his chest constrict the way it was now, watching God's vows spoken with such tenderness or heartfelt commitment. It renewed his faith to see them, to see what the ceremony should look like. His voice cracked a little and he cleared his throat, starting again.

"May this couple be prepared to continue to give, be able to forgive and experience more and more joy with each passing day, with each passing year. In so much as Dean Winchester and Eleanor Morgan have consented to live forever together in wedlock, and have witnessed the same before this company, having given and pledged their troth, each to the other, and having declared same by the giving and receiving of a ring, I pronounce that they are husband and wife."

He looked down at them, smiling slightly. "You may now seal the promises you have made with each other with a kiss."

Dean looked into the brightness of her eyes. _Who knew that a few words would have such an effect?_ He pulled her close and brushed his lips over hers, feeling her tremble in the circle of his arms, feeling himself trembling as well. _It wasn't just a few words,_ he thought hazily, _it was the promise of a lifetime, for a lifetime_. He deepened the kiss, not hearing his brother's voice beside him, or Tricia's or the clapping that filled the church.

* * *

Ellie looked down at the food on her plate. It was good, she just couldn't eat it. She could feel the baby somersaulting inside her, and her emotions sat just below the surface, held in by a thread of control. Eating was simply out of the question. Dean's thigh pressed against hers, his chair close to her and she realised that in spite of the fact that they were surrounded by people she knew, people she cared about, she couldn't wait to get out of there and just be alone with him, just be themselves again.

Tricia caught Dean's eye as she walked to the DJ who was sitting in one corner of the room, and felt his stomach dip. He could feel Ellie's discomfort radiating out from her. In some way, the ceremony had had an impact on her that he couldn't quite fathom, couldn't get a handle on. He looked around, seeing only their friends, their family filling the room, but he wanted to be home, alone with her, with no more attention on them.

"Ellie and Dean, this song is for you." The DJ's smooth voice flowed out of the speakers and Dean turned to Ellie, taking her hand, leaning close to her.

"Come on, last public thing we have to do. Just you and me. Okay?"

She nodded, her throat closing up again as she heard the gentle beat, the sweet, soft guitar of a well-loved favourite. She got up and followed him to the middle of the small dance floor, letting him pull her close.

_Walking down this rocky road, wondering where my life is leading_

_Rolling on, to the bitter end_

Dean ducked his head. "Are you okay?"

_Finding out along the way, what it takes to keep love living_

_You should know, how it feels my friend_

She looked up at him, smiling as the tears finally escaped. "Yeah. Just a bit … I didn't think it would have this kind of impact."

_Ooo, I want you to stay_

_Ooo, I want you today_

"I know." He moved slowly with her in small circles, his cheek against hers. The beat was so familiar, the lyrics piercing him as he realised how close they were to his life, to their life. "I didn't think it would mean as much as I already felt, and I guess in a way it didn't … but in a way it did."

_I'm ready for love, oh baby I'm ready for love_

_Ready for love, oh baby I'm ready for love, yeah_

"You like the song?"

_Oh-oh, for your love_

She smiled up at him. "Yeah, it's a good choice."

_Now I'm on my feet again, better things are bound to happen_

_All my dues, surely must be paid_

"I didn't … ever think I'd get _this_, you know." He looked around them, and down at her again.

_Many miles and many tears, times were hard_

_But now they're changing_

"I know." She sighed, tightening her arms around him. "Is it what you thought it'd be?"

_You should know, that I'm not afraid_

She felt his muscles harden around her slightly, his indrawn breath sharp, ending on a shaky laugh. "It's better, way better."

_Ooo, I want you to stay_

_Ooo, I want you today_

He kissed her, aware of the people around them, hearing the hooting and clapping and realising that they were still in the spotlight, where neither felt comfortable.

_I'm ready for love. Oh baby, I'm ready for love._

_Ready for love. Oh baby, I'm ready for love._

_Oh, I'm ready for love, ready for your love_

Sam led Tricia out beside them as the piano began, figuring his brother would have had more than enough of being watched by now. Twist followed with Katherine a moment later. Garth smiled at Raz and held out his hand, a little surprised when she took it.

_Oh, ohh, ready for your love._

* * *

Their fingers were entwined, Ellie's weight over his hands, her hips moving faster around him as he thrust into her from beneath, in deference to the bump. God, he was drowning, his emotions caught and tangled up with the sensations that lit up every nerve, the inseparability of loving her, and _loving_ her, filling his chest until he couldn't breathe anymore. _To have and to hold …from this day forward._

She felt herself tightening around him, reaching desperately for that point where they got closest to being one. His hands were hot against hers, and she was suddenly aware of him as flesh and blood and bone, seeing his face open and vulnerable in his passion. She couldn't lose him, couldn't live without him, her breath coming shallow and sharp as she felt herself coming, her muscles rippling up around him, deep inside.

After, he lay on his side, his arms wrapped around her, his cheek against her hair, feeling the aftershocks trembling through her, hearing the slight raggedness in her breathing, the splash of a tear on his arm.

"Hey."

She turned abruptly, almost scrambling over, her arms curling around his neck, leg slipping over his, pressing tightly to him.

"Don't let me go, Dean."

He wrapped his arms tightly around her, feeling a shiver run up his spine at the plea in her voice. He closed his eyes, shutting out the thoughts of all the things that could happen to them, the things that didn't happen to other people. It might be a risk, being together. It was a risk he'd willingly take to have this. And somewhere, deep inside, he could feel the vow he'd made today burning on his soul.

"Never."


	35. Chapter 35 Business As Usual

**Chapter 35**

* * *

_**Gleason, Wisconsin**_

In the deep of the night, just before dawn, a figure balanced on a pole in the middle of a field. Dwight looked up at Oran, watching the nephilim as he bridged the wires, disconnected them, installed the feed and then reconnected them, removing the bridge and pocketing his tools again.

The camera's feed to the building several hundred yards distant would not even have flickered as the device was installed. He nodded, satisfied. This was the last of them, they would have access to whatever the security office had now, and they could watch the damned things in comfort, miles away instead of in the constant danger of being discovered as they'd been living for the past few days.

Frank's Airstream was parked in the next county, hidden in an abandoned barn that was itself a mile from the nearest road. From there, he could receive the signals and transmit them to anywhere, and it would give Sam and his team the best possible chance for a successful break in.

The signal capture device was tiny, and designed to fit precisely between the connecting wires that fed data between security cameras and into and out of the building. It could capture any data that was routed through the wires or the computer connected to the wires or the cameras at the other ends. It might be noticed if someone went up the pole for a good look, but eyeballing it from the ground, it was indistinguishable from the run of the cable.

Frank, Dwight thought, not for the first time, was a fairly useful member of the team, despite his personal peculiarities.

He watched Oran climbing down agilely, nodding as the nephilim gained the ground, and they walked the mile back to the truck in companionable silence.

* * *

_**Sacramento, California**_

Tricia glanced at Sam as they pulled in next to the kerb. Both Winchesters had been sleeping most of the way down, and they stirred together now as she turned off the engine and killed the lights.

"We here?" Sam looked over at her. She nodded at the used car lot across the street.

Sam yawned and looked over his shoulder. "C'mon, man. We're here."

Dean opened his eyes and looked around, stretching as much as the cramped rear seat allowed.

"Straight back, Trish." Sam opened the car door and eased himself out. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yep, drive safe."

Dean climbed out past the front seat, and looked around. The lot had a few of the cars they were after, they would be able to pick and choose. The piece of crap compacts and subs they'd been driving were not suitable for the jobs the teams would be doing over the next few weeks. They needed speed and reliability, and for Dean, that meant only one kind of car.

The neighbourhood was quiet and dark, a no-man's land in between light commercial and residential, neither one nor the other. A couple of apartment blocks were further down the road, a block away the tract houses began and spread west. But here, there were two used car lots, several garages, a small wrecker's yard and a long stretch of vacant storefronts, all empty and quiet right now.

They strolled into the car sales lot, and Sam glanced across at Dean. He slipped into a row as his brother nodded, both of them crouched low and moving in between the parked cars in the darkness.

Two minutes later, two of the cars parked there were running, headlights on as they drove out quietly. The '69 SS Camaro was a dark blue, the '83 Cutlass a deep gold. The engines rumbled softly as they tooled gently down the street, barely waking the neighbourhood dogs.

Two miles away, they pulled up in the parking lot of a fast-food chain restaurant, choosing the darkened lane furthest from the buildings. Sam began to unscrew licence plates, while Dean wandered across the car park to get them dinner.

In twenty minutes the two cars were on the interstate, their respective drivers eating, heading east to Carson City.

* * *

_**Scotts Mills, Willamette Valley, Oregon**_

Twelve feet above the ground, Twist and Adam watched Achina and Idan pass below them, tucked comfortably into the wide fork between several branches. Adam watched Twist, lifting the barrel of the marker slowly and waiting for the man's signal. He pulled back on the trigger as Twist nodded, and the pellet exploded against Achina's back in a burst of orange paint. Idan dropped and turned, Twist's pellet flying by overhead, lifting his own marker and aiming more by instinct than by what he could see. Twist ducked behind his branch but Adam felt the impact on his shoulder, scrabbling to retain his grip on the branch as the lime green paint dripped down his sleeve.

Twist returned fire and Idan retreated to another group of trees, his marker raised and waiting for them to move.

Twist looked down the path, then turned to Adam. "That just a wound?"

Adam nodded.

"Give me covering fire until I can work my around to him, he's in the trees along the path."

Adam shifted upward and stretched out along a higher branch. He began to fire pods towards the trees a few feet further down the path. He was rewarded by a rustling in them and heard Twist drop to the ground, making his way in a large semi-circle around to the nephilim. Adam kept firing, not too fast, just enough to cover Twist's movements and keep Idan pinned down where he was.

When Twist rose up through the bracken a few minutes later, Idan looked at him resignedly. He'd known that the hunter was somewhere nearby, but hadn't felt he had a good enough position to take on both of them. Twist's pod exploded in violent red over his chest and he sank to the forest floor, crossing his legs.

Twist grinned at him. "If you're think you're being flanked, you probably are. A moving target is harder to hit, especially amidst trees. Keep moving until you're clear."

Idan nodded.

"C'mon Adam, we got three more to clean up before we can have breakfast, and I'm starving."

* * *

"We really need to start with the oldest and work our way back." Ellie looked at the boxes surrounding her. Bezaliel nodded.

"And get Sagi and Talya in here to help with these. They both have a good knowledge of the ancient languages."

"Are they training today?"

"They finished with the dawn paint patrol." The Watcher's voice was amused. "They're supposed to be studying anyway, this will be of more value, I think." He rose to his feet. "I'll get them."

Ellie watched him leave, thinking that the constant exposure to the colloquialisms of the hunters was really corrupting the fallen angels. A memory of Pen's vocal disapproval of local patois flashed through her mind and her smile faded.

She began to shift the collection to one wall, making room for the extra researchers and clearing the tables of the documents they'd already been through.

"You shouldn't be doing that heavy lifting, Ellie." The room's temperature dropped and she turned around to see Bobby standing in the doorway, a faint sparkle of frost edging the jambs.

"Hey Bobby, come to lend a hand?"

"If I can. Reading in this state is no picnic." He drifted into the room. "Seriously, Ellie leave that for nephilim. Don't need to worry Dean anymore than he already is."

She grinned. "I won't tell him if you don't."

"Huh. But I will, if I think you're overdoing it."

"Is that why he left the flask here, Bobby? So you can keep an eye on me for him?"

"No." Bobby ducked his head. "No, I told him I was sick of travelling around and wanted to stay in one place for a while."

"God, you're nearly as bad a liar as he is."

"Don't get snippy with me." He looked down at a pile of manuscripts. "I just think you could take it easy for the next couple of months and save us all a load of worry."

"I'd love to. But the thought of Lucifer regaining his power is keeping me up nights."

"Yeah." Bobby looked at her. "There's that."

Bezaliel came through the door with Sagi and Talya following behind him. He looked at Ellie.

"What first?"

"Let's get everything cleared to that side and then we'll work our way through?" She glanced back at Bobby. "Pick a spot, Bobby, and we'll bring the documents to you."

* * *

_**Boise, Idaho**_

Katherine watched Garth attempting to get the car unlocked for several minutes before she gently removed the slim jim from his hands and unlatched the lock.

"Takes a bit of practise." She smiled at him.

"Yeah."

"Do you know how to hotwire?"

"Not really." Garth stepped back as Katherine opened the door. "Not really had the need to."

Katherine nodded non-committally, sliding into the driver's seat and pulling a screwdriver from her jacket pocket. She slid the slot end into the ignition and turned it. Garth jumped as the engine turned over.

"With older cars, you can sometimes get lucky," she commented wryly. "Get in."

He walked around the other side of the truck, as she slid over and lifted the lock, sliding back, shifting into gear and pulling out onto the street. She was in her late thirties, a slender, elegant-looking woman, with fine features and pale blonde hair, drawn back at the moment into a neat knot at the nape of her neck. Dwight had missed her, but Twist made the introductions, and Garth knew that she'd gotten into hunting in her twenties, after a vampire attack on her husband had left her a widow. That was about all he knew of her, other than she seemed to be skilled in auto theft and wasn't prone to panicking.

She drove steadily and competently, obeying all the traffic rules and lights and pulled into the lot where they'd left Marcus' four wheel drive. Garth got out of the car.

"See you back there." Katherine smiled at him, and pulled away, heading west. Garth nodded and got into the dual cab pickup, reversing out of the slot and following her taillights.

* * *

_**Warner Springs, California**_

"Frank gave us this?" Dean lay stretched out between two rocks in a shallow erosion gully, staring down at the naval base fifteen hundred feet below them through a pair of binoculars. Beside him, Sam was also lying flat, his own binoculars angled to the north.

"Yep. Said it was the easiest base to get onto."

"Doesn't look easy to me." He scowled at the miles of electrified wire netting, surveillance cameras and open ground between the big buildings.

"No." Sam adjusted the focus slightly as he found what he was looking for. "But there is one point that we can get in and out again without having to fight our way."

Dean shifted onto his left elbow, and swept the glasses across. The perimeter road was just visible and he saw what Sam was looking at, a three foot wide culvert that led to an underground drainage tunnel.

"Which building holds the explosives?" He looked back at the main installation.

"The white one, on the western side."

Dean refocussed the glasses, moving them incrementally over the view he had. There it was. A wide grate that allowed water to run off the concrete aprons surrounding the buildings into the tunnel, just metres from the postern door in the delivery access roller door of the building. And there were no cameras on this side of the building, or the building next to it. Maybe Frank had something.

"When do you want to go in?" Sam lowered the glasses and slipped them back into his pack.

"Guards were patrolling every hour until three a.m., we'll go straight in after that patrol and be out before the next one." Dean let the glasses drop slightly. "These sort of jobs, I miss Ellie."

"Thanks."

He turned his head to grin at his brother. "C'mon, let's go."

They eased their way back off the ridge, staying low as they worked their way down the gully until they reached the hiking trail again. The deep blue car, covered in a fine layer of white dust now, sat where they'd left it, parked on the shoulder.

* * *

At three in the morning, the silence around the base was deep and unbroken. Sam shivered slightly as the wind came tickling up from the desert to the west, looking at the broken cloud cover that, for once, was working for them.

Ahead of him, his brother was moving slowly toward the culvert, freezing periodically, his dark clothing rendering him a shadow against the drainage ditch. They had a limited time window, but neither man felt pressure to hurry, the job was too important to lose through impatience.

The tunnel was three feet wide by three feet high, a square of blackness under the road. Dean looked at it sourly. It was too small to even be able to crouch in; they'd be on their stomachs crawling all the way in and all the way back.

"How much do we need?" Sam stared at the small opening, clearly thinking the same thing.

"Not much. A couple of cases, plus detonators will be fine." Dean sighed and crawled in, ducking his head and feeling the slippery growth of algae on the floor. He could feel Sam behind him, the occasional huff of breath at his heels.

Five hundred yards.

That's nothing to walk, upright and with the wind on your face. It was a long way to crawl, through the stench of decaying run off and occasional drowned animal remains. He tried to breathe shallowly, through his mouth, thinking of all the tunnels they'd roamed through over the years. This one didn't even make the top one hundred.

Under the grating, they leaned back against the sides of the tunnel, moonlight shining down on them as the clouds scudded fast across the sky. In two minutes the patrol would be on its way back to the guard room and they could move.

It took both of them to lift the heavy grating, shifting it without letting it touch the ground, without making a noise that might catch someone's attention. Dean peered out at ground level. The entire area was empty and still. He climbed out and moved fast to the white building, picks already out. Sam followed him and stood in the shadows, his back to his brother, watching.

The putty was stacked on shelves in an orderly fashion, easily found. The cases were a little bigger than they'd thought they be, each box holding seventy pounds. Sam found a smaller box of detonators and tucked it under his arm.

The return trip up the tunnel took longer, pushing the boxes ahead of them as they crawled. At the tunnel's entrance, the big black duffle bags were where they'd left them and they packed the boxes into them, picking them up and working their way slowly back to the rough gravel road where they'd left the car.

Dean wrinkled his nose as they got in and closed the doors. "You know, you smell bad."

Sam glanced at him, mouth twisting in annoyance. "_We_ smell bad, Dean. Let's just get off this road. West and north to Palm Desert. It's only an hour from there to Barstow."

Dean nodded, fingers curling around the wheel as he visualised the route. They'd keep to the centre of the state, on the smaller roads until they got back.

* * *

_**Irma, Wisconsin**_

"So, Frank, you're all set up now, right?" Dwight looked over Frank's shoulder at the bank of monitors in front of him.

"Yeah. I'm good." He glanced back at Dwight. "You can get out of here. I'll feed the transmissions to the network in Oregon."

"We've installed the alarms. You'll have about ten minutes warning from the road, about two minutes if they get to the edge of the field, and thirty seconds when they come into the barn."

Frank grinned humourlessly at him. "Ten minutes is enough time to send everything I have to Oregon. Other than that, well it's never been about getting to old age, has it?"

Dwight's eyebrow lifted. "Speak for yourself. I intend on living to a hundred."

"Good luck with that."

"Take it easy, Frank." Dwight nodded to Sariel and Oran, and they left the trailer. He set the alarm on the barn, and the other two as they exited the zones. He hoped that Frank would be alright here on his own for the next week. It was only four miles across country from Roman's building, although by road it was closer to fifteen.

He sighed as he got into his truck. Sariel looked across at him.

"What's wrong?"

Dwight shrugged. "Never have a good feeling leaving someone alone in the field."

"Do you think the leviathans could locate him?" Oran leaned forward from the back seat.

"I don't know. We don't know enough about them." He started the truck and rolled down the road, looking around. "We know they're hip to our technology, managed to identify the Winchesters straight out of the box, practically. But as to whether they've furthered that or not, we'll have to wait and see."

"If they were capable of such technology as it would take, I think we'd all be dead by now." Sariel looked out the window.

"Maybe. But they've got their own agenda and their own timetable. Maybe they're just too busy at the moment to worry about us." Dwight scratched his brow. "As soon as we start stirring them up, we'll know what they've got."

"Yes, they'll come after us then."

* * *

_**Scotts Mills, Willamette Valley, Oregon**_

Ellie came straight up from deep sleep as the bedroom door opened, her hand curling automatically around the SIG that lay under the pillow. She lay still, waiting. A soft footfall across the rug and the sound of a zipper made her lips curve into a smile and she released the gun, rolling over slowly to look at the man undressing beside the bed.

"Hey."

Dean looked up. "Hey, sorry, I didn't want to wake you."

"S'okay. How'd you go?" She leaned against the pillows on her elbows.

"Got it all." He pulled back the covers and slid into the bed next to her, one arm easing under her neck, the other curving around her, under the upright bulge of her stomach.

"Come here."

She lay in his arms, listening to the quiet beat of his heart. "You okay?"

"Mmmm … just missed you," he said against her hair. "Sam and me, driving through the night, too much like old times."

She lifted her hand and stroked his cheek, and he sighed softly, moving his head to meet her lips. The kiss was very gentle at first, soothing the worries he'd held locked up while he'd been away, softening the tensions in his body. Jus' like coming home, he thought drowsily. I _am_ home.

Her hands slid over him, smoothing over his skin, stroking him, and he exhaled deeply. He opened his eyes and looked into hers, sinking into their deep serenity, his hands moving over her in the same easy rhythm, stroking, rubbing, caressing without heat until desire kindled gradually in both of them. He kissed her neck, letting his mouth trail over the sensitive area in the hollow of her collarbone, tasting her unobtrusively, her scent filling his nostrils as she rolled over to lie on her side. He pressed himself against her back, his hands following the curves of her body. He felt unhurried, peaceful, savouring the sensations he was feeling, that he was creating for her.

He shifted down a little, and his fingers found her, wet and ready for him. That jolted through him, hardening him abruptly. He pushed in gently, through the tight folds, into a velvet heat that tightened around him, and his eyes closed, his breath rushing out as he moved, very slowly, inside of her. His hand slipped over the taut skin of her belly, reaching around to cup her breast, thumb rubbing over her nipple. His left arm was under her, hand by her cheek, and she reached up to lace her fingers with his, two gold bands gleaming side by side in the near-darkness.

For a few hours on the drive back to Oregon, he'd been … disoriented, he thought. Looking at his brother in the passenger seat, the Camaro's V8 engine sounding like that of the Impala, the night pressed close around them, the highway stretching out in front … he'd had to make an effort to remember _when_ it was, the sense that they'd travelled back in time strong and persistent. It had scared the crap out of him, thinking that nothing of the last year had occurred, that maybe it had been a dream and when he got tired they'd stop at a motel and he would wake in the morning to another life. The sight of the house, lights still burning in some rooms, at the end of the road had been a relief, but not as much as her voice in the dark when he'd come into the bedroom.

She pushed back against him, moaning softly, and he kissed her neck, holding her closer as they rocked together, their climax a slowly wandering, upward spiral.


	36. Chapter 36 Destiny's Failsafe

**Chapter 36**

* * *

_**Scotts Mills, Willamette Valley, Oregon**_

The hunters sat around the big table in the dining room, staring at a map of the country spread out over the surface. Behind them, the Watchers – Sariel, Baraquiel, Chazaquiel, Bezaliel and Shamsiel – looked over their shoulders. Ellie watched their faces; their expressions were calm, attention focussed without tension, listening closely as Sam laid it out.

"We're aiming to hit the first round of centres at the same time, starting with those furthest out and working back to the mid-west. Whatever they do in response should be scattered and give us time to hit the second round." He looked around the table. "Trish, Chaz, Anina and I will be taking Alabama. Katherine, you've got South Dakota, on your own. Twist, you, Adam and Duvsha will hit North Carolina. Dwight, you've got Arizona with Garth, Sariel and Oran."

"They'll realise what's happening sooner or later." Dwight rubbed his brow.

"Yeah, well, we can't get around that. The only option we have is to hit them hard and as fast as we can." Dean shrugged. "Sam goes up to Wisconsin as soon as they've hit the Alabama factory, while you and Twist and Katherine move onto the next targets – in Texas, Pennsylvania, and Idaho." He looked at his brother. "It'll take you twice as long to get up there as it will for the others to get to their targets, so figuring out the timing is gonna be important."

He looked back around the table. "The second targets are a long way from Gleason. When they send out reinforcements, it'll make it easier for Sam and Trish to find and destroy the bowl."

Ellie handed out copies of a list of phone codes to each of them. "Frank's got his mobile network running. He sent the codes this morning. Change your codes with every call."

"Ten days." Dean looked around at them. "That's it. Ten days and you head back here. We'll do another run later on if we've missed any."

Sam caught his eye and they walked a little way from the table. "We've been over the footage Frank sent. There's still no sign of the bowl. We're not even sure if it's there."

"It'll be there, somewhere. Roman's there and he won't let it out of his sight." He looked down. "Frank'll get the location before you get there, Sam."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then come home." He shrugged. "We'll figure out a plan B."

The temperature dropped rapidly and the brothers turned to see Bobby manifest next to them. "Bobby, you're going with Sam and Trish." Dean handed the flask to Sam. "You can search for that bowl without anyone being the wiser, even if Frank's gadgets get made."

"You ain't got that many who read ancient languages, Dean." Bobby glanced over at Ellie.

"Yeah, I know." He followed the ghost's glance. "But I don't hold out a lot of hope for finding the answers to that problem anytime soon, Bobby. And destroying the bowl before Roman finishes whatever ritual he needs is a bit more of a priority right now."

Sam and Bobby exchanged a look and the ghost vanished, Sam tucking the flask into his jacket pocket.

"Wow, he's gonna be fun to travel with," Sam said softly. He looked at Dean. "We'll leave now, Dean. Twist as well. We've got the furthest to go."

Dean nodded. "Just don't take any unnecessary risks, Sam."

Sam grinned at him. "We're going to full on Ryan Gaerity fourteen leviathan research centres, Dean – define unnecessary risks?"

"Shut up. You know what I mean."

"Yeah. We'll be careful."

* * *

"You had any luck with that legend, Ellie?" Katherine looked over at the younger woman curiously as she finished the plate of food in front of her.

"Not so far." Ellie shook her head. "Castiel says that Michael will tell us if the Princes begin to move. Until then, all we can do look and hope we find something."

"Needle in a stack of needles." Dean pushed away his plate, scowling. "We don't even know what it is we're looking for."

Ellie's mouth tucked in at the corners as she looked at him, then back to Katherine. "He's very impatient."

"Huh." He got up and went to the fridge, pulling out a beer and walking out onto the porch. The longer she searched for information on the myth of Lucifer's second rising, the less he wanted her to find anything. Castiel's expression when he'd talked about it had been shocked, and disbelieving, but behind that had been a real fear. It gave him a bad feeling when angels were afraid.

* * *

_**Millbrook, Alabama**_

Sam chewed on the inside of his cheek, as he scanned the building for any signs of movement. It looked dark and quiet.

Behind him, Tricia looked at the screen of the infra-red scanner she held. One of Frank's toys, handed out to make sure that none of the hunters killed any people when they took the buildings out.

Chaz and Anina were moving on either side of the building, well outside the fences, the business end of the scanner moving over the complex as they walked alongside it.

"There's no one in there, Sam. At least no one producing any heat in there," she said quietly.

"Good."

They repacked the gear and waited for the Watcher and nephilim to return, Tricia leaning slightly against Sam's shoulder.

He looked down at her face, half-hidden in shadow. "You didn't have to come along for this, you know."

She smiled slightly. "Yeah, I know. I wanted to come."

He sighed. They'd been together for a few weeks now, and he'd trained with her, watched her when they'd been working, even kept an eye on her basic skills … she knew what she was doing, he couldn't argue that. She was strong, and fast and competent, and he liked that. Liked that she could handle herself, that she didn't freeze or panic. But there was a part of him that wished she was an ordinary girl, maybe the sort who freaked out at a spider on the roof, or the thought of dead rats.

He smiled inwardly at himself. _Not enough to have to protect the world? Had to have a damsel in distress as well? _he thought disparagingly. He shifted slightly, feeling her move and slid his arm around her shoulder, drawing her back.

Tricia resettled herself comfortably. The man beside her was a bundle of contradictions. He was full of rage, but she'd never seen it turned outward, only inward. He was comfortable in his own skin, confident in himself, yet he worried about everything. He'd told her a little of his past, but what hadn't been said were great, gaping holes that made the things she did know confusing and vague. He trusted her enough to watch his back, but not enough to tell her how he felt. Physically they were a great match, especially in bed … he was a sensitive lover, intuitive and aware. But she could feel the ghosts of other women, or maybe just one other, between them when they finished, his eyes darkening with some memory. The murdered girlfriend, she thought. Ellie had told her a little of Jessica, had advised her to ask Sam herself. But she couldn't bring it up. His expressions were too complex when the name was raised, she couldn't follow what he was thinking or feeling, and it scared her.

Two shadows moved slowly below them, and Tricia and Sam straightened, waiting.

Chaz and Anina emerged from the scrub soundlessly, and sat down.

"The buildings are empty of people, completely quiet," Chaz said softly, his voice little more than a breath. "There are three guards, all black-bloods."

"We'll need a diversion." Sam looked from Chaz to Anina. "To draw them off."

Anina shrugged and smiled. "I can lead them a dance through the buildings on the far side."

She could, he knew. She was almost as tall as he was and fast. She would need some covering fire. It would give Trish and him enough time to set the charges, he thought.

"Chaz, take the rifle, you'll need to pin down the guards to let Anina get clear. Trish and I'll set the charges. We'll start with the northern side and work our down." They'd had the schematics of each of the buildings for two weeks now, and he knew where the structures could be compromised on each one. "We'll need about five minutes, then you have to get out of there," he said to Anina. She nodded and got to her feet.

"Let's go kill some orc." She laughed softly and began to move down the hill, skirting the forest and working her silently over the gravel and rock.

"How many times has she watched The Lord of the Rings?" Tricia looked at Chaz.

He shook his head helplessly, getting to his feet. "Too many times. They all do, it's like a new religion to them."

Sam and Tricia went down to the fence by a different trail, cutting through on the northern end of the lot. They'd just stepped through the chainlink when they heard shouting distantly. Sam handed Tricia a small black bag, heavy with blocks of Semtex and detonators.

"I'll see you at the other end. Make 'em count."

She nodded and trotted to the nearest building, slipping around the corner into the deepest shadows. Sam walked along the other side, his mind focussed on the blueprints of the building, his hands automatically unwrapping the bright orange blocks and moulding them as he packed chunk after chunk against the frames, spiking each with a small pencil detonator.

Anina ran, ducking and dodging the gunfire that followed her, moving around the buildings with the guards in pursuit. Twice, a bullet had grazed her, and she could feel the trickle of blood down her leg and back, but so far she was staying ahead of them and she could hear the occasional crack from Chaz' rifle, slowing her pursuers further as he took out their joints, forcing them to repair the damage. The seconds ticked off in her mind as she ran, and when she reached two hundred and ninety five, she turned abruptly, running flat out for the fence, jumping into the air and using the tall post to lift her over the eight foot height. She landed in a roll, springing to her feet and reaching the cover of the copse of trees just as the buildings began to explode.

Sam took Tricia's bag and threw it in the trunk as Chaz and Anina squeezed past the front seat and into the back.

"All in?" He slid into the driver's seat, starting the engine and turning the wheel, headlights off but the road clearly lit by the flames roaring behind them. Anina turned around to look out of the rear window. Four of the five buildings had collapsed completely, piles of metal and plastic, drywall and carpet now burning ferociously and sending clouds of toxic black smoke into the sky. The fifth, although still standing, was an inferno, the windows had blown out and whatever they had kept in there burned extremely well, the flames crawling over the exterior, white hot and too bright to look at in the centre.

"I'd say that was successful." Tricia watched the devastation in the side mirror as they drove away. "Wisconsin, next stop."

Sam nodded. Whatever the leviathans had been doing there, it would take a few weeks to set themselves up again. He'd seen the three guards, black silhouettes against the fire, wandering around the open concrete car park. If the others had hit at the same time, they would have at least gotten Roman's attention.

* * *

_**Surprise, Arizona**_

Dwight checked that everyone was in and took off, the truck's rear end swinging wildly on the hard clay dirt as he accelerated. Behind them, on the other side of the small ridge, a towering column of fire roared into the sky.

"Garth, figure out the quickest way for us to get to Round Rock."

Sariel leaned back against the back seat, keeping his arm still as Oran bound the gunshot wound.

"You okay, Sariel?" Dwight looked in the rearview mirror at the Watcher. Sariel nodded.

"Just a flesh wound."

Dwight nodded. "We'll all take machetes on next one."

* * *

_**Watertown, South Dakota**_

Katherine dragged herself into the truck, her hand pressed hard against her side. She'd left a blood trail from the building, she knew. She reached for the cell that sat in the console, entering the code as fast as she could. The explosion lit up the night, the sound reaching her a second later with a push of warm, expanding air that rattled the vehicle as it passed over. Then the driver's window smashed inwards and she stared at the leviathan's face as the mouth opened, and kept opening. Her fingers found the key and the engine started straight away, her foot slamming down on the accelerator as she tried to get her hand on the wheel, under the teeth that were reaching in for her. The leviathan hit the gate post as the truck bounced off it and she shuddered, staring out at the road ahead, her eyes flicking up to the mirror, seeing the figure getting up, walking slowly back to the burning buildings.

She made two right turns and got onto the 29, heading south as fast as she could. The numbness had vanished from the wound in her side, and it burned like acid, blood soaking her jeans and shirt slowly but steadily.

She needed to find a safe place to hole up so that she could fix it, and soon, she thought. The thought of stopping anywhere near the creature that she'd left behind filled her with a crawling terror, but there wasn't much choice, the pain would get bad quickly and she wouldn't be able to drive at all.

The motel sign caught her eye, hot pink neon against the darkness, off to the left. She took the exit and turned around, driving slowly to the building and rummaging in the back seat for a dark jacket to disguise the fact that she was covered in blood, and still bleeding.

They had a room, with parking in the rear and she drove around to it, killing the engine and getting her gear out, each movement sending a freshnet of pain through her nerves, as her muscles responded more and more slowly. She managed to get inside and lock the door, spilling an entire container of salt over the threshold, then staggered to the bathroom, the first aid kit in her hand.

The wound was high, just under the ribcage on her right side, in and out. She didn't think it had hit anything vital, her blood pressure was still good, and she could breathe without pain. _Lucky_, she thought tiredly, leaning against the sink as she bathed both sides. She ripped open the dressings and taped them down, trying not to twist as she reached for her back. The wide elasticised bandage held both firmly. She stripped off all her clothes and dumped them in the tub, running cold water over them. They could soak overnight.

Looking through her bag, she found the bottle of painkillers after a moment's searching and dry-swallowed two of them. She lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. She'd be a bit behind schedule, would have to let them know in the morning.

* * *

_**Burlington, North Carolina**_

Twist, Adam and Duvsha sat in the Cutlass, watching the buildings burning on the other side of the river. The job had been easier than expected, the guards not leviathans, but humans. They were out, tied up behind the diner two blocks from the centre. They'd be found by morning.

"Okay then. Let's get going. We got an eight-hour drive to Lewistown." Twist shifted in the seat, rolling his shoulders. Adam glanced at him.

"I'll take the first shift, Twist. You should get some sleep."

"I'll take you up on that, Adam." He got out of the car and walked around it, switching with Duvsha at the same time. "Getting old too damned quick."

Adam started the car, glancing at Duvsha as he turned to reverse away from the bank.

"Yeah well, you're entitled to do some delegating, you've got experience on both of us," he said quietly. Twist smiled, closing his eyes and settling along the back seat.

"Take you up on that too, Adam."

Adam drove east, finding the I-81 N and heading north.

* * *

_**Scotts Mills, Willamette Valley, Oregon**_

Ellie shifted her position as the baby moved to one side again. She looked briefly down at her lop-sided stomach, then focussed her attention back on the manuscript, her pen moving slowly over her notepad as she translated the words.

"_For then it was known, that the adversary was accordant with three lines of Heaven and none included the seraphim but those of the octavo versu, those who guarded and gave out of the fruit of the tree of wisdom."_

She lifted her pen, looking back over what she'd written. Rubbing her forehead with the inside of her wrist tiredly, she looked at her watch. Almost six. She'd been here all day.

She looked back at the manuscript. It was one of the oldest, so the time was right at least. So far, they'd discovered quite a lot about the agrarian society in which the authors of these documents had lived, but not much that could reasonably be construed as information about the mythology of Lucifer. Perhaps she was clutching at straws, she thought disheartedly. Perhaps there was nothing here that could help them.

"Ellie? Can you come and look at this? I think it's related," Talya said softly from the other end of the long table, the dark auburn of her hair flaming under the lamplight.

Ellie turned and got up, supporting herself against the table as her back protested. _Kiddo, you're putting on too much weight too quickly_, she told her son, and straightened up, stretching all the muscles. There was a kick from inside then he subsided again.

Talya was reading through Pen's journals. She'd made a pile of notes on the pad beside her but her finger rested against a page near the end of a recent journal.

Ellie stood beside her, leaning over to read the page.

_From the transcription of the fourteenth book, what I took to be a myth appears now more likely to be a prophecy. The 'rising of the dragon of the east', and of 'the black beast from beneath the earth' – could these things be related to the failure of the Apocalypse and a subsequent reordering of the lines of destiny? If so, it means that the chains were never broken, merely moved to a new line and that destiny itself is still functioning as a blueprint for the struggles on all the planes of existence. Why were these prophecies never recorded and stored in Heaven? Or were they at one time?_

_The passage stated: The prophecy will come to pass in a series of connected events, each event bringing about the necessary structure for the next – was that a reference to the events of the Apocalypse being the necessary structure for a further set of events?_

_What events are required for the second rise of the dragon? I have found some references that might pertain, but I fear that I am following a path of wild geese, to all points of the compass and beyond. There must be a way to confirm – somewhere in these documents. I do not think I will have the time or the luxury of study to find them._

Ellie looked at Talya. "Have you found anything else in Pen's notes that refer to this?"

"Yes, several references are made to the possibility of prophecies, and also to the events he believed may have formed a series of chains, each necessary before the lines of destiny could be moved." She looked at the small pile of leather-bound journals at her elbow. "These I haven't been through yet, they're the last journals he wrote over the past couple of years, I think. Do you want me to go to the last and work back?"

Ellie bit her lip. It was unlikely that Pen would have summarised his findings into one neat exposition and not told anyone. She shook her head. "No, keep going through linearly, as you are. Fine-tooth comb them for any possible references, and make you sure you list his sources, we need to double check them anyway."

Talya nodded, bending her head over the journal. Ellie straightened up and walked slowly around the table. What if Pen was right? What if there was not just one Apocalypse but many, each tied to a different line of destiny, each only activated when the previous one failed?

Stop speculating about nothing, she told herself. Get the data, verify it. Then you can start hypothesising. She walked back her chair, and sat down. Her thoughts wouldn't leave her alone, the sense of a huge pattern spread out in front of her, showing tantalising glimpses, was one she couldn't ignore. In nature, God had made back up systems, redundancy systems. Every living creature had them. Every pattern in Nature was designed to swing in one direction and then self-correct, self-balance. Why not this as well? In fact, didn't it make more sense that way?

* * *

Dean stretched out in the leather chair, the television on in front of him, showing the news of the day. He was tired and sore, the training had gone well, and the little army he commanded were picking everything up fast, but man, it was hard work. He turned up the sound as the first reports of a mass, country-wide series of terrorist attacks came in.

"At this time, it seems that the attacks are unrelated, although the timing cannot be discounted." The anchor put his hand to his ear for a moment, nodding. "Sorry, this just in. In Charlotte, North Carolina, it seems that one reporter has found a connection to all the attacks. Rob, can you fill us in on this development?"

The camera focussed on a young man standing in front of a tall glass building in downtown Charlotte. Behind him, several figures stood on the steps of the building, surrounded by camera crews and reporters from across the country.

"Yes, Steve, here in Charlotte, our own editor of the Observer appears to have made a connection between the attacks." He turned and the camera zoomed in on the steps, the blurred figures resolving into people. Dean leaned forward as Dick Roman's face filled half of the screen.

"I have no idea why my companies would have been targeted for these horrifying examples of violence and terror," he was saying, looking down at someone just off the camera.

"Mr Roman, can you tell us what the properties were being used for at the time of the attacks? And why the security around them consisted of high voltage electric fencing, armed guards and state of the art surveillance equipment?"

Dean froze. He knew that voice. The camera panned slightly right and her face appeared, the smooth café au lait skin framed by tight dark curls, dampened with the drizzle that was blanketing the city.

Cassie.


	37. Chapter 37 Bombs Everywhere

**Chapter 37**

* * *

"No, I have to get hold of her now." Dean walked up and down the room, his cell held tightly to his ear. "I have, uh, important information on the story she's working on relating to Dick Roman. Just tell her it's Dean Winchester. Yeah. Like the gun."

"Yeah. I'll hold." He rubbed his hand across his face in frustration.

How had she figured out the connection between the properties so damned fast? Unless, she was already working on a story on the guy, and the dots had already been connected. Well, she'd stuck herself right into the goddamned firing line with that public display. Roman wasn't pulling punches about disappearing people and who would really notice the disappearance of an editor of a local paper in Charlotte?

"Yeah, I'm here." He waited, taking a deep breath. "Cassie? It's Dean."

"I don't care what you're doing, get a plane out of there right now, any plane to anywhere. Then get one to Portland. I'll get you from there." His expression darkened. "No, you do not have time to do anything. Go to the airport now. This is the kind of thing I work on, alright?"

He was glad that had stopped the questions and the argument. "Yeah, first flight out, then get a flight to Portland. Call me when you get – from a payphone, Cassie not your cell. In fact, toss your cell as soon as you've hung up. No, I'm not kidding."

He closed the phone, looking down at it for a long moment. He couldn't really spare the extra time and effort it was going to take to get her out of whatever she had gotten herself into, he thought, but he couldn't just leave her there either. He put the phone in his pocket and walked to the door.

* * *

Ellie sat at the long table in what had been termed a rumpus room by the real estate agents when they'd moved in. It was now filled with tables and shelving, all holding servers, monitors, printers and drives, running along two walls and keeping the basement-level room warm with their combined heat output.

She looked at the footage Frank had sent through. The images from the security cameras were surprisingly high definition and she wondered why the leviathans felt the need for such good resolution for their new head office.

The bowl was clear in the footage at any rate. It was sitting in a glass case on one wall of a very expensive looking executive office. She looked closely at the image, seeing the multiple security measures Roman had taken to make sure no one could get to it. She looked across the other images, the office was surrounded by a variety of gateways, some voice-secured, by the looks of it, others key-card or pass-card, or a combination of both.

She brought up the schematics for the building that Frank had found, both the county's and the blueprints from the security firm that had handled the installation. The two differed considerably, in the layout and the details of what was actually contained within the walls and crawl spaces of each floor. She shook her head slightly as she followed the wiring and plumbing diagrams. Each floor had its own cutouts, listed as firewalls for the integrity of the building in case of a fire, they were nevertheless to prevent anyone accessing any of the top two floors from the lower levels.

She looked up as Dean came into the room, walking fast. "What's wrong?"

"An old friend got herself into a load of leviathan trouble." He pulled up a chair and sat down next to her, his gaze skimming over the plans and images before turning back to her.

"Cassie Robinson – I told you about her, right?"

Ellie nodded, looking at the tension in his face.

"She's a reporter, well, she was a journalist, now she's an editor, in Charlotte. She put together that Roman owned all the buildings we torched in the last twenty four hours, and confronted Roman about it on TV."

He shook his head. "She always was a hothead. I told her to get a flight to Portland. She should be there in a few hours. I'll drive down and get her, bring her back here."

Ellie nodded. "You think she's got more information on what they're doing?"

"I don't know." He looked away. "I couldn't leave her there to get killed."

She turned to the computer in front of her, and brought up the flight listings from Charlotte outward bound.

"Next flight out of Charlotte is to Atlanta. If she makes it, she'll be there by four. The next non-stop flight to Portland from Atlanta is six fifty-five. Arrives in Portland at nine twenty-three." She looked at her watch. It was three-twenty.

"I'll get going at eight." Dean nodded. He took a breath and turned back to the monitors. "That the stuff that Frank sent?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"How hard is it going to be?" He looked at her profile, lit by the white screen in front of her.

"Very near impossible." Ellie looked at the security surrounding the buildings. "Roman is taking this building very, very seriously."

"Can we do it?" He looked back at the images.

"We'd have better luck with a rocket launcher or a guided missile." She made a face. "Yeah, they can do it. They'll have to be very careful, that's all."

"Have you sent Sam the details?"

"Not yet. I'll go over these and the plans and see if I can come up with a couple of scenarios to get in." She turned her head slightly to look at him. "There'll be a way, but it won't be obvious."

She looked back at the monitor. "Is bringing your friend here likely to jeopardise our level of visibility?"

Dean looked at her. "No. I don't think so. I told her to ditch the phone …"

"What about paying for the flights? Using her name?"

"No." He shook his head slowly. He hadn't even thought of that, just focussed on getting her out of Charlotte as quickly as possible. "She'll disappear from Portland. They won't be able to track her here."

Ellie looked at the blueprints on the screen. It wasn't like Dean to forget the most basic of their protocols. This state had been safe for them because they'd been careful to leave no trails entering or leaving it. The leviathans would track his ex-girlfriend easily to Portland. And then she'd disappear. They would start looking for her in Oregon.

She sighed inwardly and pushed the obvious conclusion aside for the moment. "Anything to tie you to her in the past?"

He chewed the edge of his lip, trying to remember. In Ohio, there was nothing. Everything had been in different names; he'd left no trail at all there. In Cape Girardeau … they'd used aliases for the motel. Only Cassie had known his real name. And the mayor, but he was dead. He and Sam had given the cops aliases.

"No. There's nothing."

She sighed softly. "It would be better to send Sagi down to pick her up."

"I don't think she'll go with anyone else." He lifted a shoulder. "She's kind of hard-headed about that."

"Then you better make sure that you stay out of camera range in the airport, Dean. One shot linking you with her, and they'll double their efforts to find you."

"Yeah." He got that. It hadn't been such a hot idea to tell her to come here. "Sorry. I wasn't thinking clearly."

Ellie leaned forward onto her elbow, studying the images on the screen. He watched her for a moment, feeling the shut out, unsure of what to do about it. Ellie was pissed at him, he knew that much. She only shut him out when he screwed up but she didn't want to talk about it. He sighed, then got up and left the room.

* * *

_**Tracy, Minnesota**_

Frank drove two miles under the speed limit, everywhere. He was careful to project the persona that had served him well over the last twenty five years, an ageing accountant, travelling around the country, experiencing the roots of his nation. The most dangerous people he'd met were fellow Airstream aficionados, who were always eager to talk about the trailers with anyone who owned them. He'd figured out some non-offensive deflections, and these days he rarely got trapped with anyone for more than five minutes.

The cell rang on the seat next to him. He picked it up, looking at the number. After a moment, he pressed the call button and put the phone against his ear.

"Frank?"

"Yeah."

"Where are you?" Katherine's voice sounded breathless and he wondered automatically if this was some kind of trap.

"In Minnesota."

"I need help. Now."

He frowned. Definitely sounded like a trap.

"What's wrong?"

"I caught one. Uh, currently disabled."

He listened to her cryptic description of her condition. "Katherine, I'm going to call you back in five minutes. All right?"

"Frank…"

He hung up and dialled Scotts Mills. Two rings and Dean picked up the call.

"I need to speak to Ellie," Frank said, overriding Dean's response.

"Hang on." He could hear rustling in the background, then Dean's voice talking to someone.

"Frank? What's wrong?"

"Just got a call from Katherine. She said she was injured. She needs help. I need you to verify that it is Katherine and that she's alone."

Ellie closed her eyes. "I'll call you back in two minutes, Frank."

She hung up and called Katherine's cell.

"Ellie? Frank call you?"

"Yeah. What happened?"

"Caught one as I was leaving. I can't fix it on my own."

"He's on his way. Where are you?" She wrote down the details. "Stay there, try and rest, alright? He's on his way."

She dialled Frank's cell again. "It's Katherine, Frank. Get your ass over to the Watertown Motel, Watertown, Room 45."

"Yep, right."

She closed the phone and stood by the table, head bowed. Dean walked up behind her, and put his arms around her.

"She going to be okay?"

"If he gets there quickly. Gunshot wound, she says it didn't hit anything vital, but she must have lost blood, and …," She shook her head. "She'll be okay if he gets there quickly."

She lifted her wrist, looking at her watch. "Dean, it's ten to eight. You better get going."

"Yeah. Okay." He released her, waiting for her to turn back to him. Instead, she drew out a chair and sat down, opening the phone again and scrolling through the list of numbers. She found Sam's and pressed call, tucking the phone against her ear.

Dean looked down at her. Definitely majorly pissed. He turned away, and walked upstairs, grabbing his jacket from the rack by the front door and closing it softly behind him.

"Sam? Frank sent the footage. It's going to be very difficult. I had a couple of ideas – I've included them with the details of the footage and the plans. I'll send it in two minutes."

She hung up the phone and listened to the sound of the pickup starting up and pulling up the driveway outside. She hoped he'd remember the cameras.

* * *

_**Lewistown, Pennsylvania**_

"I see Roman didn't waste any time." Twist looked through the binoculars at the building. There were six guards patrolling in twos, every thirty minutes now. He couldn't tell from here, but he was willing to bet all six were leviathans.

Adam glanced at him. "Do we need to abort?"

Twist shook his head. "I don't think so. Just need to get sneakier. Pass me that thing with the plans on it, will ya?"

Adam handed him the tablet, taking the binoculars and looking down at the building.

Twist scrolled through the plans, squinting at the bright screen. The leviathans might have black blood, but it was warm blood – the scanners had picked up all six guards on the outside, no one on the inside. He closed the building plan and found the utility plans for the block, opening it and looking for what he thought must be there. And yep, there it was.

"C'mon. We're moving." Twist tapped Adam's shoulder lightly and nodded to Duvsha.

Would Roman have noticed it, when they started construction? He wondered. Maybe. It might have safeguards in place, but it was the only way he could think of to get inside, past the guards, with some small chance of success.

* * *

_**Round Rock, Texas**_

Garth stayed under the shadows of the trees lining the road as he walked toward the truck. He'd been right around the lot and was buzzing slightly by his discovery.

"I think our luck's changing." He opened the door and climbed in, looking from Dwight to Sariel and Oran. "The guards look like they're human."

"How can you tell?" Dwight's expression was doubtful.

"They were playing cards and drinking beer."

Dwight smiled. "Yeah. Okay."

"This is not something that the leviathans do?" Sariel looked from Garth to Dwight.

"Probably not on duty." Dwight shrugged. "At least let's hope not."

He got out of the truck and went to the back, handing out the small black bags of explosive.

"We'll need to get them out of there before it blows." He glanced at Oran. "How's that sleeper hold coming along?"

Oran nodded. "It's going well. I put Garth out for four minutes today."

Dwight glanced at his partner, who was rubbing his neck reflexively. "That so?"

"He took me by surprise." Garth grimaced. He'd felt the nephilim's arm circle his neck and then that had been all until he'd woken a few minutes later.

"That's the way to do it."

They walked down the road, staying in the shadows under the trees.

"We'll bring them back here." Sariel looked at the clearing around them. It was a couple of hundred yards from the fence surrounding the buildings.

Dwight nodded. "We've got about six minutes, and then she'll go up, so make sure you're out of there."

Sariel and Oran moved to the right, and Dwight and Garth went left. The fence, although high and topped with razor wire, was not electrified and they cut through the chainlink quickly, moving to the covering shadows of the buildings. Pulling out the putty, they stripped the wrappings and moulded it quickly as they moved along the walls.

Dwight was just at the corner of the largest building when he saw the Watcher and the nephilim cross the concrete car park in front of him, each with a limp body over their shoulders. They moved to the gate, using the guard's passes to open it, and leaving it open as they headed further into the woods. He shoved the last chunk into the wall, and set the detonator, pushing it deep into the explosive.

The two-tone whistle was piercing but not loud. He heard Garth's answering whistle and started to head for the gate. Three minutes.

Garth came trotting out of the darkness between the last two buildings and caught up. They'd just gone through the gates when the explosive went up, and the buildings dropped to the ground, their structures shredded, the fire lighting the path in front of them.

The two security guards were human, beads of red blood on their arms where Sariel's knife had pressed against them. Dwight checked their pulses.

"Alrighty then. Let's get going."

* * *

_**Portland, Oregon**_

Dean parked the truck in a dark row, near the back of the lot. He was half an hour early and he'd already cruised the lot once, looking for cameras, guards, anyone who was lurking around who shouldn't have been.

The path from the arrivals lounge to the truck was unguarded. The cameras were mostly in the front of the building and down the runway and hangar side. No one had deemed the long-term lot a threat to security, apparently.

He sat watching the building in front of him, waiting for Cassie's call. He could understand why Ellie was pissed at him, he thought. He should have routed Cassie through a couple of different states before she got here, should have told her to pull out cash for the flights, should have told her to use a fake name for them too. It had been sloppy. But he didn't really think the leviathans could track her to them, even from here. And on the way down, listening to the news broadcasts on the radio, several reporters had obviously picked up Cassie's leads and run with them, Roman getting questions from different papers and news shows about the connections between his businesses and the ongoing terrorist attacks.

As he'd come into the city limits, the radio had announced another attack, this time in Texas. The reporter had been quick to report that the company was a subsidiary of Dick Roman Enterprises. It would take the heat off Cassie. He hoped.

The phone in his pocket rang and he yanked it out, answering it.

"Yeah?"

"Dean, I'm here. In Portland." Cassie's voice sounded tired and angry.

"Come to the front of the building. Walk to the corner and then straight across the parking lot."

"Look, I've been on two planes –"

"Cassie. Just do it."

She hung up on him. A moment later he saw her emerge from the building's front doors, turn right and walk to the corner of the building and then walk in a straight line for the truck. He got out and waited for her.

She looked tired and crumpled from the flights, but otherwise much the same as when they'd seen each other last in Missouri. He could see her searching his face for changes as well.

"Well, I'm here," she said, lifting her chin slightly. "You gonna tell me why?"

"Get in." He opened the driver door and got into the truck, and she walked slowly around to the other side, pulling herself up and sliding onto the seat, as he started the engine.

They pulled out onto the street, and he took the scenic route through the city, avoiding every main road and the cameras that were stationed along them; security cameras, red light cameras, speed cameras, crime prevention cameras. It took an extra ten minutes to wind through the suburban areas but he was pretty sure that their direction couldn't have been recorded.

"How'd you put together that all the attacks were on Dick Roman's companies so quick?"

She looked at him, surprised. "Why?"

He rolled his eyes slightly, remembering the argumentative streak. "Just answer the question, Cassie."

"I was working on a story about some odd disappearances in Tennessee. When I started to dig, it turned out that all the people who disappeared had dealings with Roman, so I was looking around for other things, other connections." She shifted in her seat to look at him. "How is Dick Roman 'your kind of work', Dean?"

He looked at the road in front of them. "It's a long story. Let's just say, he's not human, and leave it that?"

"No way. I didn't drop out of my life – my good life – to get an answer like that."

He sighed. "Dick Roman isn't Dick Roman anymore. He was … taken over … by something else. Something not human. With an agenda."

"What kind of agenda?"

"We're not sure about that, entirely. But it's not to play nice and co-exist peacefully."

"And you know this … how?"

"The creature that took him over came with a lot of friends. They killed a couple of my friends. I was there. I saw it happen." He glanced at her. "Eyewitness account, you getting this?"

She nodded. "And the connection to Roman is?"

"We've had a couple of chats. He isn't shy about telling people, some people, people who are after him, what he is. Pretty sure it wasn't just Dick having a psychotic break."

Cassie bit her lip. "Alright. Suppose I buy into that. What made you think he would come after me?"

"You've been digging around. He goes after everyone who digs around. Sometimes they reappear, but they're not them anymore, not human anymore. Sometimes they just don't reappear."

"Are you saying that I can't go home? That I'm being hunted now?"

"That's what I'm saying." He flicked a sideways look at her, relieved that that had gotten through.

"Fuck." She turned away from him, looking out through the windshield. "Fuck."

"Yeah."

* * *

_**Watertown, South Dakota**_

Frank pulled around the block, parking the truck and trailer in the street behind the motel. He pulled out his first aid kit, his gun, a two gallon weed sprayer backpack that was filled with a concentrated solution of borax, and locked the truck, stepping over the low rear fence that marked the motel boundary and heading for the corner of the building.

When Katherine opened the door, he could see immediately that it wasn't a trap. He nodded to her, and hurried inside, setting the kit and pack on the floor.

"Get on the bed." He picked up the kit and knelt beside her, looking at the soaked dressings on her side. "You've taken painkillers?"

"Two, last night. They didn't do much."

"It's infected. Must have taken some cloth into the wound with the entry." He looked into her face. "This is going to hurt like hell."

She nodded, her skin waxen and beaded with sweat, drawn tightly over the fine bones of her face. "Won't be any worse than what's been going on."

"Don't bet on that." He cut away the dressings and looked down at the reddened flesh surrounding the wound. Already fine streaks were radiating out from the holes, infection spreading through her bloodstream.

"Roll onto your side, I want to put something underneath you." She lifted herself awkwardly up and he slid the antiseptic plastic mat beneath her, grabbing the pillows from the head of the bed to prop her into position.

He picked up the bottle of saline solution from the kit and squeezed the liquid into the wound, eliciting a soft gasp from Katherine, but nothing more. The pink solution that flowed back out held a lot of debris, fibres and dirt from her clothing that had been driven into the wound with the bullet. He kept irrigating the hole from both sides until the liquid ran almost clear, then put the bottle down and pulled out another from the kit, also filled with a clear liquid.

He offered her his hand, and felt her grip it tightly, then squeezed the alcohol into the hole. Katherine shook as pain raced through her nervous system, her grip on Frank's hand crushing, a low agonised moan whistling out from between her teeth.

"Alright. Worst is over." He used clean swabs to dry her skin around the wound, and released her hand, flexing his fingers slightly. He puffed in quantities of antiseptic powder into and around the wound then fixed clean dressings over each side, taping them firmly to her skin. From the kit he took an ampoule of broad spectrum antibiotic, inserting the needle carefully into the top.

"Allergic to anything?" He looked at her as he cleared the syringe of air.

"No."

He gave her the shot and put everything away, clearing the mess of old dressings and replacing the mat with a clean towel from the bathroom.

"We'd better get out of here." He looked around the room. "You can ride in the trailer, sleep as much as possible on the way."

She nodded slowly, sitting up carefully and pulling her shirt down over the dressings.

"Thanks, Frank."

He looked down at the kit in his hands. "Not a problem. That your only bag?"

She nodded and he bent to pick it up, putting the spray pack over his shoulder. "I'm parked in the next street. Can you walk?"

"So long as I don't try and go too fast."

"Right, no speed records today."

She smiled and hobbled slowly out of the room after him, feeling the heat and dizziness from the fever already dissipating, her skin cooling finally. He put the bags and pack into the back seat of the truck, and opened the Airstream's door, helping her over the low fence and into the trailer. The bunk was narrow, but comfortable, and she'd be able to support her back on the full length cushion that ran along the wall. He pulled a blanket over her, and got a small bottle of water from the fridge, handing it to her along with a bottle of ibuprofen.

"We'll take the interstate back to Oregon."

Katherine looked up at him and shook her head. "No, I have to finish the job, in Montana. We need to go to Butte."

Frank looked at her patiently. "You won't be doing anything until those holes have closed up. Dean'll send someone else to the do Butte job. We're going back to Oregon."

She closed her eyes for a moment, then sighed. Frank took it as agreement, backing out of the trailer.


	38. Chapter 38 Are You Happy, Dean?

**Chapter 38**

* * *

_**Cascade Highway, Oregon**_

Cassie looked at Dean's hands, resting light on the wheel as they started to climb. The glint of the gold band caught her eye.

"You got married?"

He flicked a look at her. "Yeah, just a week ago."

"Really. How are you liking that?"

He smiled slowly, his mouth twisting up. "Uh, it's awesome."

"That's an interesting way to put it."

He could hear something on the edge of her voice, but couldn't decipher it. "What about you? You married, kids?"

"No, I never did that."

He flicked another glance at her. "Have you, uh, got someplace you can go, hide out for awhile?"

"Not really." She looked down at the purse in her lap. "Mom died three years ago. I sold up and moved to Charlotte afterward."

"We're working on getting rid of … Roman and the rest of them, but it might take a few weeks, or months." He looked over at her. "You need to keep out of sight until it's over."

"Why are you doing this, Dean?"

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing. Not important."

Yeah, that he remembered. Door shut, do not enter. He watched the taillights ahead of him. Six years ago, that comment would have driven him nuts. He'd have pressed her for an answer, unable to let it go. Now, he let the silence grow, not really interested in playing word games with the woman sitting beside him.

He wondered where she could go for the next few weeks or months, until the leviathans were gone for good.

* * *

_**Watertown, South Dakota**_

Katherine Emily Cooper. The memories were all there. The knowledge. The skills. All there, waiting to be used. It looked in the mirror and saw a slender woman, elegant and beautiful in an austere way, fine pale skin and large dark grey eyes. Long pale blonde hair. Wiry strength in the slim limbs and long-fingered hands. Hunter.

Turning away from the mirror, it began to dress, picking through the most recent memories. Driving along the interstate … east. She'd come from a place where the forests and farmland were rich and green, over the mountains. Oregon. It could almost see the name of the little town, with its waterfalls and wooden frame houses, and the little church … Chuck's Gas station … Scotts Mills.

It smiled and picked up keys and wallet from the nightstand, leaving the room.

* * *

_**Lewistown, Pennsylvania**_

Twist eased himself into the narrow opening. "Read about it somewhere a few months ago. New buildings get their phone, comms and power via the sub-basement, to prevent criminal activities, apparently."

Adam handed him the bag, now stuffed full. "Twist, you need back up in there. We should be going with you."

Twist shook his head. "No, won't take me long and one's quieter and sneakier than two. You two keep a watch here."

He climbed down into the narrow conduit, and put the bag ahead of him. From the comms plans, he should only have about a hundred yards to go, then he'd be inside.

Adam and Duvsha closed the manhole cover and walked down the street to the car in silence. Neither was thrilled about letting Twist handle this on his own, neither could think of a good reason to argue against the experienced hunter.

Twist wormed his way slowly through the tunnel, the pen light in his hand showing little detail of the space. He reached the upshaft after ten minutes, wiping the sweat from his face and sitting up awkwardly in the tight confines of the tunnel and shaft. He wouldn't go higher than the sub-basement, he thought. He could bring down the whole building quite tidily by taking out the foundations.

The fine grating that gave access to the cabling was screwed down, and he pulled out his tools, using a pair of pliers to start the screws from the underneath then turning them by hand. He lifted the grate and looked around. The area was clean and empty, a few panels on one wall showing the building's connections were all in order.

Painting by numbers, he thought delightedly as he looked at the structural supports. Each major foundation pier was numbered and colour coded. He climbed out of the shaft and unzipped his bag, pulling out the wrapped blocks of putty and carrying them to the pylons. Semtex had been designed for demolition work. The blast would shear the pylons and bring the building down as neatly as a house of cards. He whistled softly under his breath as he worked, packing the blocks and inserting the detonators. In five minutes, he'd done the area.

He looked around, then dropped the bag into the hole, climbing down and pulling the grating back over the top. He'd be almost out when they went off, he thought. Far enough away that the blast wave wouldn't disintegrate his brain tissue.

* * *

_**Gleason, Wisconsin**_

Sam leaned back against his duffle and looked at the schematics and images on his phone, his brow creased with concentration and worry.

"What's wrong?" Chaz looked at him, crouched a few feet away.

Sam looked up. "This place is better guarded than Fort Knox." He looked back down at the small screen. "Ellie's come up with a couple of ideas, but they're going to depend on a lot of things."

He got to his feet and picked up his bag. "Come on, we gotta get organised."

Chaz rose, following the tall hunter back down the trail to the road. He wasn't sure he liked the resigned set of Sam's shoulders, or the tension in his face.

* * *

_**Scotts Mills, Willamette Valley, Oregon**_

Dean drove down the driveway and parked the truck. He got out, waiting for Cassie, then headed up the slope to the steps that led up to the back porch. Cassie followed him reluctantly.

They came through the back door and he walked straight through to the living room.

Ellie, Baraquiel, Bezaliel and Talya were seated around the long table, piles of documents in front of them. They looked up as Dean entered, Ellie's gaze going to the woman who walked in behind him. It shouldn't have mattered that she was extraordinarily beautiful. Her memories of their conversations about how he'd felt about this woman flashed into her mind, and she pushed them away irritably. That was then, this is now, she told herself.

"This is Cassie Robinson." He looked at Ellie as Cassie stopped close beside him. "Cassie, this is Ellie," He turned and gestured to the Watchers and the nephilim, "And Baraquiel, Bezaliel and Talya."

Ellie watched Cassie as she nodded to each of them. "I'm glad you made your flight."

Cassie turned back to look at her. "I was too."

Dean pulled out a chair for her, and walked around the table, stopping next to Ellie. "Cassie said that she was investigating disappearances in Tennessee, that all tied to Roman."

Ellie raised an eyebrow. "What kind of disappearances?"

Cassie looked at her for a moment, then sat down. "Historians, archaeologists, a curator … it didn't seem random."

"No." Ellie thought about them, an idea forming as to what Dick Roman might have wanted with historians and museum curators. "What were their specialities?"

"Ancient Middle East. Uh, Persia, Sumeria, that period." She looked at Dean's hand, resting on the back of Ellie's chair, then down to the red-haired woman's hands, the gleam of a gold band on her left finger, next to a delicate emerald and gold ring.

Ellie saw the direction of her gaze. She pushed aside her reactions, focussing on what Cassie had said, looking at Baraquiel. "He doesn't have the ritual."

"It would seem that way." He shook his head. "Why would he think that humans would have found it?"

"Clutching at straws? I don't know." She rubbed a finger over the bridge of her nose. "He was around before any of this, before angels or demons, before people. How could he have lost it?"

Dean looked between them. "You're saying that he's got the bowl but doesn't know what to do next?"

Ellie nodded. "God knows why, but yeah, that's what it sounds like." She looked up at him. "You better call Sam; tell him not to go ahead until we can figure this out."

Cassie watched as Dean left the room, hauling his phone out.

"You're Dean's wife?" She looked pointedly at the ring.

Ellie nodded, ignoring the odd mixture of emotions that rose in her. "Do you still have your notes on the people who disappeared? Did you notice anything out of the ordinary about them?"

"My notes are on my computer – in Charlotte." Cassie straightened up a little. "They were very experienced, respected people in their fields, but I wouldn't have said that they were the top people, there are more qualified experts in New York, in Europe."

Ellie nodded. "Yeah, but maybe those people are harder to make vanish without a lot of questions." She looked up. "Do you have a permanent connection on your computer?"

"Yeah, cable. Why?"

"Well, I need your notes, so we'd better go and see if I can get them." She stood up, and Cassie's eyes widened slightly.

"When are you due?" She got up slowly.

"Six weeks." Ellie manoeuvred herself out from the chair and around the table, looking back at the others. "We should see if we can find out anything more about the black beast. It seems to be crucial to this line."

Bezaliel looked at her. "The prophecy says it is. But I don't think that Pen found anything more about it."

"Maybe he did, but he didn't realise it, didn't see the implications. It's here, somewhere, Bezaliel."

She walked out of the room, glancing back to see that Cassie was following, and down the stairs to the server room. The trust that should have been there, should have been rock solid, wasn't quite, she thought. It was still too easy to remember how she'd felt, seeing him come out of the club in Seattle. And the impressions she'd already picked up from Cassie weren't helping.

"When did you meet Dean?" Cassie asked from behind her. Ellie exhaled. It wasn't up to her, she thought, it was up to him. She could trust in him. She looked back.

"A few years ago. On a case."

"Oh. So are you a … is it hunter? Like he is?"

"Yes." Ellie sat in front of the access machine, and began the process of finding an IP address that she could use to get into Cassie's computer anonymously. "Here we go."

"Did he tell you about me?" Cassie sat down beside her, looking at the monitor. She wasn't sure why she wanted to know, but suddenly it was important.

Ellie glanced at her, wondering at the sudden push. "He said that you told him that you didn't see much hope for a future together."

Cassie looked down, remembering that conversation. "Oh. Yeah."

"Who's your provider?"

"Clearwire."

Ellie accessed the ISP, breaking through the security and looking through the connection accounts. She found Cassie's and pulled the details, connecting via the main server and routing through a couple of different accounts. The login screen came up.

"Login and password?"

"Uh, should I be entering those?"

Ellie smiled. "You'll never be able to use this account again so privacy isn't going to matter much now."

"CARobinson."

"Password?"

"Um … ghosthunter49." She looked away, knowing how much that whimsical decision was going to tell the woman next to her.

Ellie typed it in without a comment. Cassie's file directory scrolled up the screen. "Where are the notes?"

"In the Work folder. Under RomanR."

The progress bar popped onto the screen as the files began to copy. Ellie watched it absently, aware of the woman beside her, the field of unspoken mines between them.

Cassie watched her profile, lit up by the flickering screen. She was beginning to see what Dean saw in this woman, her cool practicality and obvious competence could have been intimidating, but she seemed to assume that everyone was just as switched on as she was, and the inclusion brought an odd feeling of camaraderie. She turned as she heard footsteps on the stairs behind them.

"Sam's coming back." Dean looked at the two women. "He, uh, said that the place is locked down pretty tightly."

"Yeah, not wrong." Ellie leaned forward and starting typing as the indicator disappeared. Along the other wall, one of the printers beeped softly and starting feeding paper.

"So what happens to me now?" Cassie stood up, moving to stand next to Dean. He looked at Ellie, who was concentrating on the screen in front of her, and shrugged.

"We'll have to find someplace safe for you to stay, for awhile. Get you off the grid."

"I have a life that I worked hard for, back in Charlotte, Dean. You want me to throw that away?"

He turned to look at her, running his hand over his hair in mute frustration. "You want to take the chance that you won't lose more than your job if you go back?"

"Maybe you're just exaggerating the danger." She looked up at him.

"He's not." Ellie stood up, turning to face her. "But it's your choice." She walked to the printer and pulled the printouts from it, tucking them against her side. She looked at Dean, her face carefully expressionless.

"She'd probably be fairly safe with Missouri, if you can't think of anyone else."

He walked over to her, his eyes searching her face, seeing the little lines of tension around her mouth, hearing the tiredness in her voice. He took the printouts from her.

"You okay?"

For a moment, she looked into his eyes and he saw … something … there, an entreaty that made him take a step closer. Then it was gone and she nodded, turning to walk up the stairs to the ground floor. He followed her up, not hearing Cassie's sharp exhale behind them.

* * *

_**Lewistown, Pennsylvania**_

Twist climbed out of the tunnel as the building shuddered violently and collapsed into itself, sending a gout of fire into the air, and clouds of dust out from the lot.

"That's done." He looked at Adam and Duvsha. "Time we went home."

"Ellie called earlier. Katherine took a hit in South Dakota, so she couldn't do the Montana job. She wanted to know if we'd be able to handle it on the way back." Adam stared past him at the fire, his pupils contracted.

Twist nodded, starting the engine. "Yeah, but let's get a good night's sleep first."

* * *

_**I-94 W, Wisconsin**_

"What did Dean say?" Tricia looked at Sam as the car sped along the wide road.

"It looks like Roman doesn't know how to use the bowl." Sam shrugged.

"Isn't it his? From their time?" Chaz leaned forward, arm resting on the back of Tricia's seat.

"That's what I thought, but maybe not." Sam glanced into the mirror, meeting the Watcher's eyes.

"So now what?" Anina said quietly from behind him.

"We go home. See what we can find out about the bowl, I guess."

"Do we know how the others went?"

"I heard a news report this morning." Tricia half turned to look at the nephilim. "Two more of the centres were hit last night."

"Still a few to go then." Chazaquiel leaned back. "And this monster, Roman, was onto it from the first one."

"Yeah, he reacted fast, but he wasn't expecting it." Sam nodded. "Only three of the fourteen targets had electrified fences and high level security. The rest were just normal security measures."

"So we hit two of the three high profile centres." Tricia looked from Chaz to Sam. "That's not bad."

"I think, Sam, that we'll need to talk to Castiel about this bowl," Chaz said quietly.

Sam's brow creased up again. "We did ask him, he didn't know anything about the leviathans, not even when he was carrying them."

"Then Michael."

"Yeah."

* * *

_**Scotts Mills, Willamette Valley, Oregon**_

"So, you're going to be a father as well." Cassie leaned against the table, watching Dean as he pulled two beers from the fridge.

"Yeah." He couldn't hide the faint grin that appeared, whenever he thought of that.

He passed one to her and walked out to the porch. Ellie had returned to the living room, passing the file printouts to the Watchers and the three of them had immediately begun to read. He wanted to talk to her, wanted to ask about what he'd seen in her eyes, what she was feeling, but he had the strong sense that whatever it was, she wouldn't talk to him about it now. It was making him uneasy, the feeling that something was wrong between them and she wasn't talking about it.

He moved aside as Cassie came up and stood beside him, looking out over the distant lights of the valley below them.

"I was wrong about you," she said softly.

He turned his head to look at her.

"I thought you'd be on the road, doing what you do, more or less forever." She smiled slightly. "I didn't see you settling down."

He caught a hint of regret in her voice and frowned. "Caught in between … everything we're caught in between, I don't think you could call it settling down."

"Isn't it? You're married, starting a family." She looked at him, her face half in shadow, her eyes dark. "Are you happy?"

He looked down for a moment, his mouth lifting in a one-sided smile. "You know, even with everything that's going on, I've never been this good. Yeah, I'm happy."

"Dean?" Ellie stood in the doorway, the light behind her hiding the details of her expression. "I – I'm, uh, exhausted. Can you check in with Dwight and Twist tonight?"

He nodded, his expression immediately concerned. "Yeah. No problem."

"Thanks." She nodded to Cassie. "Goodnight." She turned away, crossing the hall and going upstairs.

He went to follow her, and Cassie caught his arm.

"Dean."

He looked down at her. "What?"

"It's been a while, we could catch up."

"What's going on with you, Cassie?" He shook off her hand, his worry shifting to a sudden irritation as he slowly recognised the expression in her eyes. It crossed his mind that at least one of the reasons that Ellie had been pissed had to do with the way she'd perceived his reactions – getting Cassie without following protocols, possibly endangering them for an old girlfriend. He looked at the woman standing next to him. He hadn't thought of her like that, hadn't even considered it, but obviously Cassie had, and he knew that Ellie would have picked up on it, would have seen it. He didn't know whether to laugh or take her back to Charlotte and dump her there. "You figure you missed out?"

She lifted her chin. "I've missed you."

He shook his head. He really didn't have time for this. Now that he knew what the problem was, he wanted to sort it out. "I've got to go."

He put the beer on the table beside the door as he went through it, crossing the hall and heading up the stairs. The bedroom was dark, and he closed his eyes briefly, wishing he'd seen the implications of her reactions earlier, as he opened the door and went in.

"Hey." He sat on the edge of the bed, seeing Ellie's shape under the covers on the other side.

"Hey." Her voice was muffled.

"What's going on?" He leaned over and turned on the lamp beside the bed.

"Just tired."

"Come on, it's me. Tell me."

She rolled over slowly, and he looked at her face, the tension in it, masked briefly by the smile she attempted.

"I'm feeling a bit vulnerable at the moment." She smoothed a hand over her stomach absently. "I'm not sure I know what's going on with you."

He looked at the door. "With Cassie? Nothing. Nothing's going on."

"She doesn't agree."

"That's not my problem. I didn't want her to get eaten by leviathans, but that's all it is, Ellie." He stared at her. "Why didn't you ask me about this? Why are you shutting me out?"

"I'm not, I was just … trying to get out of your way."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I want you to make your own choices."

"I have made my choice." He picked up her hand, holding it so that the rings were side by side. "I don't want anyone else, Ellie. I don't want anything else but what we have."

She took a deep breath. It really should have been rock solid, but in spite of everything, it wasn't … yet. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you should be." He leaned over and kissed her. "Why would you think–?" he stopped as understanding dawned on his face, and he cringed inwardly as his memories flooded in.

"Oh." He looked into her eyes. "That's why."

She looked away. It was in the past and it needed to stay there. And mostly it did.

He stretched out on his side next to her, looking into her face, his eyes haunted. "That'll never be over, will it?"

"It _is_ over." She exhaled softly. "The trust is still a little thin."

He rolled onto his back, nodding wearily. "I guess I'll just have to live with that."

"Dean."

He turned his head, then rolled onto his elbow, staring down at her. "_Forsaking all others, keeping only unto her for as long as we both shall live_. Those aren't just words, not to me."

She looked at him, seeing the conviction in his face. "I know."

"Then _believe_ in me again, Ellie." He felt his throat close. "Please."


	39. Chapter 39 New Protocols

**Chapter 39**

* * *

_**Scotts Mills, Willamette Valley, Oregon**_

The peace of the early morning was broken by the sound of the engine as it rumbled down the drive, and Ellie looked out the window, frowning as she saw the pale blue truck go past.

Dean walked into kitchen, listening to the truck. "Who was that?"

"I don't know."

The truck stopped, the engine cutting out, and the sound of the door opening and closing was distinct. They looked at each other. Dean felt for the Colt, permanently tucked into his belt at the small of his back now, Ellie reached for the long carving knife, drawing it from the rack, letting the blade lie against her thigh. They walked out into the hall, looking obliquely through the living room doors to the French doors that led out onto the back porch.

Cassie was halfway down the stairs when she saw them. "Good morning."

Katherine walked in through the living room, glancing up at Cassie, then looking at Ellie.

"Hi."

"Where's Frank?" Ellie looked at the woman in front of her. She looked a little too healthy for someone who'd recently been shot, she thought uneasily.

"Oh, he said something about the signal quality and peeled off a couple of miles back." She walked toward Ellie, smiling. "He said he'd come by later."

Cassie walked slowly down the stairs, a frown drawing her brows together as she watched the conversation.

"Uh, Katherine." Dean smiled, pulling his switchblade from his pocket. "SOP."

She turned mid-stride, nodding. "Yeah, sure."

The knife blade snapped out. Cassie reached the bottom of the stairs. And Katherine spun around, taking a long stride to reach Ellie, her arm swinging out. Ellie ducked, the kitchen knife flashing in the sunlight from the front door as it came up, slicing through Katherine's forearm. Black ooze began to drip out. Katherine kept turning, hissing with pain, faster than Ellie could match. Her hand gripped Ellie's wrist, thumb driving into the tendon, the knife dropping to the floor as the nerves were paralysed. The leviathan backed to the living room door, her arm hooked around Ellie's throat, dragging her along, Dean talking several steps after them.

The face that had been Katherine's changed. The mouth opened and kept opening, covering the rest of the features, as long teeth filled it and a forked tongue flicked out, delicately touching Ellie's neck. Cassie stared in horror, her feet rooted to the floor, unable to move, unable to make a sound.

"Dean, it's been a while."

"Do I know you?"

"Sure, yeah. It's Edgar." The monster's black goo was dripping from its arm down Ellie's stomach. She watched Dean's face, her eyes on his, waiting for the right moment to break free.

"Right. Edgar. Thought we killed you?" He followed them slowly into the living room, watching the leviathan's mouth.

"Face peel only. My skin's been much smoother since, if you want to know the truth." Edgar turned his head toward Ellie's face, the long teeth less than an inch from her cheek.

"How'd you get Katherine?" He looked at Ellie, swallowing as his mouth dried.

"She was wounded. Lost some blood. Very careless."

"Uh huh." Dean kept his eyes fixed on Edgar's mouth, ignoring the shadow moving behind the monster. "So what's the plan?"

"Plan? There's no plan." Edgar's tongue flickered out again. "Kill everyone, leave no traces. I'll be taking this morsel with me, I just love the stuffing."

"Now!" Dean yelled. Ellie let her body drop straight down and felt Edgar's arm give. There was a sibilant hiss from above and the leviathan's head bounced several times across the room before coming to a rest near Cassie's feet. She skittered backwards, a scream finally breaking free of her throat.

"Rain barrel for the head." Ellie lifted her head as Baraquiel lowered the sword and walked to her. Dean nodded and picked up the head, going to the kitchen for the industrial borax that was under the sink.

"What the fuck was that?" Cassie looked from Dean's back to Ellie.

"That was Leviathan. One of the monsters hunting you," Baraquiel said mildly as he helped Ellie to her feet. "What about the body?"

"Uh, there's an old horse trough, down by the garage. Fill it up with a strong solution and put the body in it. We'll work out a concreting detail later." She rested her hand on his arm. "Thank you."

Dean came out of the kitchen, his head bowed, the borax in one hand, the head in the other.

"Of course." Baraquiel picked up the body, lifting it over his shoulder as goo dripped from the neck and trailed over the floor. Ellie looked at it for a moment, then went into the kitchen to get a glass container and a bucket of water and detergent. She scraped a little of the goo into the container and sealed it, washing the rest away with the borax solution.

From the porch she could hear the sound of the head being dumped into the half-empty barrel. She walked out slowly, breathing deeply. She was fine, nothing felt wrong, but her heartbeat had increased and she thought her blood pressure might have dropped a bit.

Dean had pushed the head deep into the barrel and tipped half the borax in on top, the solution bubbling, black goo thinning and spreading like ink through the water. He was leaning over the railing, breathing fast, his face white as she came out.

"Dean?"

He straightened as she walked closer, and met her halfway across the porch, his arms going around her as she turned slightly lean against him.

"This place was supposed to be safe for you." His voice was hoarse against her hair, the reaction he couldn't afford to have earlier kicking in now.

"I don't think Katherine expected to be shot." She lifted her head to look up at him. "But we'd better change the protocols. Phone straight away and no coming home if you do leave any genetic material around."

He nodded. "You alright? Is the baby alright?"

"Yeah, just dropped a bit of BP with reaction, I think. I need to eat something, I'll be fine."

"We need to find somewhere else for you to stay, Ellie."

"No. It's safe here. There's too much to do and we can't move everything. And I'm not going to sit around a motel room all day on my own."

"If one found us …" He closed his eyes as his imagination tossed up scenarios at him.

"Doesn't mean others can or will." She looked up at him. "And there are any number of ways to find us if something's really determined, you know that."

"Can we protect this place?" He looked around. "Better than it is, I mean?"

"I thought we might try putting down iron around the perimeter. Like the Devil's Trap in Wyoming. Not that scale, of course, but it would help if the demon action gets going." She looked around the quiet garden. "I don't think there's much we can do about the leviathans."

"Yeah. We'll do that." He took a deep breath. "Come on, breakfast first."

He turned around, his arm around her shoulders and met Cassie's gaze, looking away as they walked to the kitchen.

* * *

_**I-94 W, Montana**_

Sam closed the phone, leaning against the passenger window. "One of the leviathans found the house at Scotts Mills."

Tricia grimaced, her fingers tightening on the wheel. "Are they moving?"

"No. Apparently Katherine was shot when she torched the buildings in South Dakota, left some blood at the scene and the leviathan morphed into her, getting the location from her memories."

"Do we know if it told the others?"

"Doesn't seem to have." He looked down at the phone. "Might have been acting on its own."

"That's a pretty big if, Sam," Chazaquiel said from the back seat.

"Yeah." Sam sighed, running his hand sharply through his hair. "But no others have turned up, so the odds are improving."

"How did they know it wasn't Katherine?" Anina asked.

"Uh, Katherine's with Frank and Frank wasn't there. And we have a simple blood test. It grabbed Ellie and Baraquiel took its head off."

"Is Ellie alright?" Tricia glanced sideways at him. "And the baby?" He nodded.

"So. New protocol?" Chaz looked at Sam.

"Yeah. If we leave anything behind, blood, hair, a fingernail … we have to notify them immediately."

"Better not to leave anything behind." Chaz remarked dryly. Sam glanced at him.

"Yeah."

* * *

_**I-84 N, Utah**_

Garth closed the phone and looked over at Dwight. "Leviathan found the house in Oregon."

Dwight's head snapped round to look at him. "Is everyone alright?"

"Yeah, Katherine got shot in South Dakota and the leviathan used her blood to make a copy, or whatever they do. Turned up at Scotts Mills and they took care of it."

"Katherine – is she alright?"

"She's with Frank, they're heading back to Oregon now. Dean said she was alright."

Dwight let out his breath slowly. "So, new protocol?"

"Yeah. If we lose any body bits, we have to phone and warn them. And stay away, for awhile anyway."

"Okay."

"These … leviathan creatures. They can duplicate people?" Sariel looked at Dwight from the back seat.

"Yeah. Carbon copies, memories included, apparently."

"From anything of the body?"

"Anything that contains DNA." Dwight glanced back at the Watcher. "Not sure you guys qualify for that."

"That's reassuring to know." Sariel flicked a look at Oran. "The nephilim would have DNA, wouldn't they? Being half human?"

Dwight scratched his chin. "I don't know. I would guess so."

"Something we'd have to be careful about then."

"Yeah, something to add to the list." He looked at his watch. "Another five or so hours and we'll check it out with Frank and Ellie. They'll know."

* * *

_**Scotts Mills, Willamette Valley, Oregon**_

Sam got out of the car, stretching as he put the front seat forward so that Chaz and Anina could get out. Nine hours was too long to be squashed into a seat. He looked over the roof of the car at Tricia, who was also stretching out her neck and back and shoulders.

"Feel like a hot bath?" He grinned at her.

"Definitely." She ducked her head but he saw the beginnings of a flush rising up her neck.

They unloaded the trunk and lugged their gear bags inside the house. Dean came out of the kitchen as they entered the hall.

"So. Plan B?" Sam stopped, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

"Yep, Plan B coming up."

Sam snorted. "Did I just see Cassie sitting in the living room?"

"Yeah. She put two and two together on some of Roman's business deals and started questioning him in public about the centres we've been blowing up. So I told her to get out of there." He glanced in the direction of the living room. "Not one of my better ideas."

Sam raised his brows. "Why?"

"We need to find a place to stash her, till this goes away." He shrugged. "Not that many options."

"You don't want her here?"

"Not enough room here, and too much going on. She's basically a civilian and she saw a leviathan in all its natural glory today."

"That must have been fun for her." Sam glanced over his shoulder. "So, where?"

"Maybe down with Missouri for a while." He shrugged.

Sam's eyes narrowed slightly. Dean wasn't telling him the entire story. Most of it, maybe, but not everything.

* * *

Talya moved the book across to Ellie. Pen's handwriting was clear on the pages.

_There is a connection between the lines. It could be a failsafe, to ensure a certain outcome if the first chain fails. Why would God do this?_

_I have to find the ritual. The bloodlines are critical. So few of those who chose to fall are compatible. I must find their descendants._

_The bowl is not safe. It can be found. And if it is found and its secret uncovered, then it won't matter if the Morning Star rises or not. I see now why the myth was perpetuated, never verified. One can search for a myth till the end of Eternity and never gain validation. Will they believe that the ritual exists, or will they come to the correct conclusion as I have, as many have before me. It depends on whether they can believe in the power of imagination, I think. Had I never known humanity, I would have doubted it myself._

_Araquiel._

_Amaros._

_Azazel._

She looked up at Talya. "These are the last entries?"

Talya nodded, pushing her dark hair back from her face. "I looked for the sources, but I can't find any that relate to this. Baraquiel promised he would check himself this evening."

Ellie nodded, looking back down at the book. _I see now why the myth was perpetuated_. She frowned as she read the line again. A myth perpetuated. A story. A legend, without basis in fact. She straightened slightly. _Without basis in fact_.

Suddenly she knew exactly why Roman hadn't been able to use the bowl. She put her hand to her mouth for a moment, covering a disbelieving snicker. Oh, it was rich, priceless even. And she couldn't tell them, couldn't tell anyone. Not yet. Still it removed that problem from their immediate agenda.

"This is great, Talya. Thank you." She looked at the three names again. Three lines of those who chose to fall. She knew of Azazel, who had sired the line leading to the Campbells. And Araquiel, she knew that name as well. The boy, Travis, the nephilim who had been one of the seals of Lucifer's cage, his father had been Araquiel. She wrote the names down on a scrap of paper. She'd need to check this with one of the Watchers, or with Cas or with both.

Another phrase snagged her attention. _So few of those who chose to fall were compatible_. Compatible with what?

She leafed back through the pages of her notebook, and came to the first reference to the Watchers that Pen had noted.

"_For then it was known, that the adversary was accordant with three lines of Heaven and none included the seraphim but those of the octavo versu, those who guarded and gave of the fruit of the tree of wisdom."_

_That the adversary was accordant_. The adversary was _compatible_.

With the three lines of Heaven of the octavo versu. What or who were the octavo versu? It was Latin, loosely, the eighth row. What the hell was that? What did it mean that it didn't include the lines of the seraphim? The seraphim were the angels. How could they not be compatible? Who was the adversary? She stopped for a moment and looked down the table at Talya.

"Do we have a copy of the Qu'ran here, Talya? And the Talmud?"

"Yes, both. There are also references to the Adversary in the apocrypha."

"Better have a look at them." Ellie looked down at the passage. Shaitan in Islam was the Adversary, the Devil. His role was slightly different in the Hebrew texts, being the tempter and the prosecutor of sin. But the books were written by men, not angels, and not demons. And men could screw up the simplest translations with the best of the intentions.

If Lucifer _was_ the adversary, then would that mean that he was only compatible with three of the lines of Heaven? She looked at the three names Pen had listed. Araquiel. Amaros. Azazel.

A sudden chill beside her made her shiver. Bobby manifested in the chair next to hers, looking down at her notes.

"Hey Bobby, I take it Sam's back?"

The ghost nodded, then gestured to the book in front of her.

"You know that Dean and Sam are descended from two different lines?"

She looked at him. "No, which two?"

"Araquiel and Azazel." Bobby stared down at the paper. "I had a talk with Cas once, asked him why the boys were vessels for Michael and Lucifer. He didn't know for sure, but the feeling in Heaven was that for some reason, Dean had gotten most of Araquiel's bloodline, and Sam most of Azazel's. So they were suitable."

"To break the first and the last seals, as well?"

Bobby nodded. "We didn't tell them."

"No."

"The Araquiel bloodline produced the Winchesters. The Azazel one, the Campbells."

"I knew about the Campbells." She frowned slightly. "Sam and Dean hold both bloodlines."

"Yep." Bobby looked at her. "I think you need to talk to Cas about the third Watcher, Amaros. They must know the descendants."

"Yeah, I think you're right." She turned to him, but he'd gone, the air already warming. Dammit.

She tapped the pen against the paper. The question remained, compatible how? In what sense?

She was missing something here. Something obvious. The pattern was almost there but not quite.

She needed more information.

* * *

"Cassie?" Ellie looked over to where the slender woman was curled into the corner of the sofa. She wasn't sure what had passed between Cassie and Dean earlier, but it seemed to have altered Cassie's behaviour. "This grouping of companies, the ones related to the takeover of Création Technologique last year, how did you find out about them?"

Cassie uncurled herself from the couch and walked to the table, looking over Ellie's shoulder at the printouts she was reading.

"That came in a bunch of stuff that I got from a friend in France. He thought there was something funny going on, and I'd just asked for anything he could dig up on Roman's business activities over there."

Ellie tapped her pen. "There are a dozen biotech labs in that group."

Cassie sat down and looked at her. "And that's strange because …?"

"Because Roman has been investing in developing behavioural modification foods."

"You're serious?"

"Yeah, deadly serious." She leaned back, stretching. "He's developed some kind of synthetic enzyme, at a guess, that changes human behaviour after the consumption of a certain food type. But from what Bobby said, that process was almost completed. Why would he buy into the French biotech companies now?"

"I'm still processing the food thing." Cassie shook her head. "Although … Dean said that you were trying to develop a virus? To kill those monsters?"

Ellie blinked. Dean had _told_ her that? "Uh, sort of. We've asked a lab to look at a protein marker."

"Oh. Well, three of those companies are mostly funded by the DOD, looking at the development of biological weapons. My friend said that those were the ones Roman wanted, but he had to buy it all to get them."

Dean and Sam came into the room, talking quietly. Sam walked over to Baraquiel and Talya, looking down at the documents they were working on, and Dean walked up to the table where Ellie and Cassie were looked over the printouts. "Any updates?"

"Susfu."

"Uh huh. Cassie, it's going to be safer for you to be somewhere else. A friend of ours in Kansas –"

"No way. No. I'm not going to some stranger for an indefinite period of time. You can forget that shit."

"Can I have a word?" He stared at her tightly.

Cassie got up, then leaned over the documents and tapped three of the names on the list, glancing sideways at Ellie. "Those three."

Ellie nodded, and put a mark next to each of them. Something for Frank to check out when he got back. She watched Cassie follow Dean out to the hall, then turned back to the list in front of her.

* * *

"What are you doing?" Dean looked down at Cassie.

"What are _you_ doing?"

"I'm trying to find someplace where you'll be safe."

"Well, no. I'll stay here with you, or I'll go back to Charlotte and take my chances."

"You're not staying here," he said coldly.

"Dean."

He turned around to see Ellie standing at the doorway. "She could stay with Baraquiel and Talya; she's met them at least. It's close enough to not feel isolated, not so close that she'd be in danger if we get another surprise visitor."

He looked at Ellie for a long moment, trying to gauge what was going through her mind. He didn't want Cassie here, and not because of the danger of unexpected visitors. He saw Ellie's lips curve very slightly, saw her eyes soften, and he felt a thread of relief fill him. He turned back to Cassie. "That alright with you?"

Cassie looked from him to Ellie and back. "Yeah. That would be alright."

Dean nodded.

"Cassie, could you show Baraquiel the connection between the DOD labs and the French ones? He's putting together a file for Frank to check out."

"Sure." She looked at Dean for a moment then walked past him, returning to the living room.

Dean walked to Ellie. "You sure about this?"

"I'm sure about you." She smiled up at him. He bent his head and kissed her.

They heard the deep chug of a familiar engine and turned, walking to the porch together, as Frank crept down the driveway and parked the truck and Airstream in its usual spot.

"About time." Ellie breathed.

* * *

"We need a bigger table." Dean leaned close to Ellie.

She nodded, looking around at the gathering. Frank sat next to Bezaliel; beside him, Katherine, still looking pale and tired. Sam and Tricia, Chazaquiel and Anina took up most of the other side. Baraquiel and Talya had taken Cassie to their house. Dwight, Garth, Sariel and Oran had come in ten minutes after Frank, and had squeezed themselves onto both ends.

"The building in Wisconsin is a near-impossible hit." Sam looked down the table at Dean and Ellie. "We can't get the bowl or destroy it the way we've done with the other centres."

Frank nodded. "Roman's been there since we hit North Carolina. I'm not sure if he knows who's gunning for him, but he's gone into lockdown and nothing gets in or out of that place."

Dean looked at Ellie. She raised a brow at him and shook her head. He turned to the table.

"Doesn't matter for the moment. We've knocked them a little and we can do it again anytime. Roman's activities are global so we're not going to make that big an impact anyway."

"What do you mean, global?" Dwight looked at him.

"I mean, all over the world." He picked up the list that Ellie had printed from Cassie's files. "He's got biotech companies in France, the businesses in Saudi Arabia and Jakarta, an engineering company in Germany … and the list goes on. Whatever we do here, isn't going to put a stop to the projects he has outside the country, and they could be legit businesses as part of their cover, or they could be developing stuff to kill people, and we don't know which is which."

"The biotech labs in France?" Frank looked at Ellie, brows raised.

"DOD contracts for weapons." She nodded. "But also a few other interesting little boutique labs – we need to get solid information on them tomorrow. Baraquiel has a file for you."

On the table, the papers fluttered.

"Dean."

Dean turned to see Castiel behind him. The angel looked around the table, then back to him.

"Hell has risen."


	40. Chapter 40 Hell Has Risen

**Chapter 40**

* * *

For a long moment, the room was silent, human and angel and nephilim staring at Castiel. Then the chairs were scraping back and a babble of questions and answers filled it.

"What?" Dean took a step closer to the angel. "Where?"

"In Kansas. The Princes have opened a gate." Castiel looked at the Watchers. "Michael needs every sword."

They nodded, getting up immediately, the nephilim with them.

"Has Lucifer found the soul?" Ellie looked at Castiel. He shook his head.

"No. Lucifer is not with them. The Princes are still looking. They have … spread out across the land, searching for it. I don't know how they will find it, or if they know where it is already."

"Cas, I need to talk to you about the soul." Ellie got up, moving out of the way as the Watchers and nephilim gathered near the door. "Pen wrote that only three lines in Heaven were compatible with the Adversary. Was he talking about Lucifer?"

"Yes." Castiel looked over her head to the door.

"The three lines are Araquiel, Amaros and Azazel?"

"I don't know."

"Then I need to see Michael," she pressed him. He looked down at her.

"Michael is on the field. We're at war, Ellie."

"It's important, Cas, if Lucifer regains his power you won't have the strength of arms to hold them."

Castiel looked away. She looked at him in frustration, and the thought came to her.

"Cas, is the soul they're looking for descended from all three lines?"

He shook his head. "I don't know, Ellie." He looked over her head and she turned.

Baraquiel stood behind her. "Castiel."

"I'm glad you will be with us, brother." He looked back down at Ellie. "I will ask Michael. I'll return when I can."

He lifted his voice. "Watchers, nephilim, to me, now."

Ellie was pushed away as the Watchers and nephilim gathered around Castiel and the angel closed his eyes, white light beginning to glow around him. She felt a hand on her arm, drawing her back further, away from the light and the angels. Dean pulled her back to the other end of the room, with the hunters.

The light flashed and faded and the end of the room was empty.

"Well, that's bad timing." Dwight looked around.

* * *

"I'm going to Kansas." Sam tried not to look at Tricia and his brother.

Dean scowled at him. "To get yourself killed? No."

"Lucifer's there. It'll be a chance to kill him."

"We don't have anything that can kill him."

"You said the Colt might, now that he's without his powers."

Ellie shook her head. "I don't think it works that way, Sam. You need something stronger than the Colt. And Castiel said he wasn't on the field, he'll be on the other side of the gate."

"Besides, Michael wants to kill him – has wanted it for thousands of years, you've only had a bug up your ass about him for a few years." Dean remembered the archangel's vehemence on the topic.

Headlights splashed along the wall and ceiling and they turned as the Camaro pulled in and stopped, Dwight and Sam walking to the door, drawing their knives.

Twist, Adam and Duvsha walked in wearily, dropping their bags to the floor and rolling up their sleeves resignedly as the small cuts were made, their blood flowing red.

"What happened?" Twist looked from Dwight to Sam. "We miss something?"

"Hell's risen." Dwight shrugged. "In Kansas, apparently. Castiel just came and got all the Watchers and nephilim."

"Crap." He looked at Ellie. "That mean that Lucifer found the soul?"

She shook her head. "Doesn't seem like it. The Princes are still looking."

"It's a big country, but given that it takes Cas about a second to search a town, I think we're on a very limited timetable here," Dean said quietly. "We have to protect the house."

"No." The temperature dropped fifteen degrees as Bobby materialised next to Dean. "You have to leave this house, now. I've been looking around here for a better base, and there's a good one four roads over – it's empty, for rent, it's got a steel frame, and it's big enough for everyone without tempers getting too hot." He looked from Dean to Ellie. "But we gotta get going now."

Dean looked at Ellie and she nodded agreement. "Tricia? Could you get Cassie and Talya from Baraquiel's place? They'll need to come with us."

Tricia nodded, watching Sam climb the stairs. He'd get all their stuff. She headed outside.

* * *

The house was enormous, set into a wide clearing between the end of the road and the forest, the ground flat but high, looking out over the valley, and down the long side of the ridge it was built on. The single gravel access road was the only way in or out.

Ellie had rung the agent listed, catching her at home. She'd sounded surprised by the request to lease the place from that night, but it had been sitting empty for months, and she'd agreed when Ellie remarked that if it suited, they were interested in buying. She and Dean would drive down in the morning to sign the lease and get the keys. Tonight, though, they could move over.

They had packed the trucks and cars with everything that could be squeezed into them by eleven, and Frank brought up the rear of the little convoy, parking the trailer around the side of the house when they arrived. Ellie envied him the luxury of just stopping, no packing or unpacking required.

She thought mournfully of the servers sitting in the room under the other house, and shrugged it off. They could get the rest of their stuff tomorrow, or sometime, if nothing happened tonight.

For now, the house would be safe enough against a demon attack, the steel frames, salt lines, demon traps and Enochian wardings against the Fallen hurriedly painted over doors and windows, vents and fireplaces. Even if it couldn't keep out the more powerful entities, it would ensure that they had a warning at the very least.

* * *

Cassie looked around in disbelief as she walked into the house with Tricia and Talya. The floor coverings had been pulled up, boxes were piled chaotically in every room, the hunters were still moving from room to room, laying down protection, bags of salt, iron filings, and cans of spray paint in their hands.

She walked through the ground floor rooms, coming across Ellie and Frank, who had claimed the sitting room and were lifting equipment onto trestle tables, sorting through cables and plugging everything back together.

In the kitchen, Tricia, Talya, Duvsha and Garth were chopping ingredients and frying onions, a scratch dinner to make up for the one they'd left behind. Cassie leaned in the doorway, looking around, wondering what she could do. Dean walked past her and stopped, looking back.

"There are nine beds that need to be made upstairs. Linen's in the boxes in the rooms." He turned away and kept going down the hall.

Cassie sighed and turned from the kitchen, climbing the stairs to the upper storeys. It wasn't much of a job but it would give her something useful to do.

* * *

Sam lay back in the deep tub, legs bent, but otherwise fully covered by the steaming water. He shifted up slightly as Tricia came into the room, putting a pile of towels down on the straightback chair near the wall and smiling at him.

"Didn't take you long."

"Hey, the house has five bathrooms, we're entitled to one, and this one's got the biggest tub."

"Good call then." She stripped off her clothes and climbed into the hot water in front of him, easing herself down as fast as her skin could cope with the temperature difference.

"You're not going to Kansas, Sam," she said quietly as she lay back against him.

He sighed. "I've told you a bit about what's been done to me, to my family, Trish. I don't want to go, but I have to."

"Revenge is for suckers, Sam. Don't be a sucker."

"It's not for revenge," _Much_, he thought. "It's for justice. And for me. I can't let it go."

She half-turned, her shoulder against his chest, to look at him. "You can, but you won't."

He shrugged. "Then I won't. It doesn't matter. I can feel it. I'm not going to get rid of the anger, of the rage until he's dead – and beyond any possibility of resurrection."

"And if that's impossible? Do you give up on what you could have?"

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the sloping surface of the bath. "If it's impossible then -," He stopped and took a breath. "Then, I'll accept it and try for what I could have."

Tricia heard the hesitation. He had been going to say something else. He'd changed that because of her. It didn't take a genius to figure out what plan A was.

She turned over in the warm water, resting her elbows on the sides of the tub as she faced him.

"Don't throw away everything you've fought for, and what you have here, for a pipe dream about closure, Sam."

He looked away. "What makes you so sure it's a pipe dream?"

"Because everyone who ever said 'if this happens, I'll feel better', is kidding themselves. You want resolution? Go through your memories and your past. Killing Lucifer, or anyone for that matter, will not do it for you."

He felt a stab of anger, and pushed it down, away from her. "For someone just out of college, you seem pretty certain."

"I am certain. I saw my father kill hundreds of things in his quest to make sense of Mom's death." She touched his face gently. "I think you probably saw the same thing with your Dad."

He looked at her. They were both completely still, the bath water surrounding them mirror smooth. Silence filled the room as the truth in what she was saying seeped into him. He'd hated his father for years for pursuing revenge at the cost of his family. Had hated the life, the secrecy, the otherness of it. And yet, when Jess had been murdered, he'd embraced all of it, and for the same reason as his father.

That anger, that _wrath_, had filled him for so long. He wasn't sure he could let go of it. Wasn't sure if he could walk away from all that had happened.

"You're right," he said softly, looking into her face. "It's an obsession and I don't think it will bring any resolution."

She watched him, holding her breath.

"A few months ago, I felt as if that anger had gone. What had happened, what I'd been through, it felt like I'd paid my dues, come out the other side, and could look at the future again – a real future again – without feeling driven. Then, that changed. I don't know why, I don't even know how. But the peace that I felt, that's gone. And the anger is back. I don't know that I can give it up, Trish." He tipped his head back, eyes closing in pain. "I don't think I can let it go."

"You will, in time." She picked up the soap, lathering it in her hands. "Knowing that it's not going to solve anything, knowing your rationalisations … that's what stops obsession."

He felt her hands, slippery with soap, smoothing over his chest and shoulders, stroking his neck.

Maybe she was right. He'd never had a chance to just sit with this stuff for a while. It had been buried under more and more grief, and anger and doubt and fear over the years, as he and Dean had lost more people, been forced into more choices that had hardly been choices at all.

* * *

"I don't know why the hell I didn't think of it before." Ellie rubbed her fingertips over her forehead. "I really need them, most aren't as old as these but they reference sources that are, and that have been lost since."

Twist nodded thoughtfully. "How many books we talking about, Ellie?"

"Hundreds, uh … a couple of thousand, at least." Ellie looked up at him. "You'll need a big truck."

"Alright. We've got nothing pressing for a few days, we'll find a truck in the morning and get onto it."

"Thanks." She smiled at him. "We have to find out how they're going to do it, this ritual, what they're going to need to do it. Before they find it themselves."

"I'll take Adam and Duvsha. We're pretty used to each other now."

"The library and the study are hidden, but bring all the books from the house, and the equipment from the workrooms – I'll make a rough list and map, and how to get into the secret rooms." She turned around, looking over the table for paper and pen.

"Not leaving this minute, hon, take your time." Twist grinned at her.

* * *

Cassie sat at one end of the long pine table, eating the scratch stew as she watched and listened to the talk surrounding her. Dean and Ellie were talking to Frank, the creepy hacker type down at the other end of the table, their voices low and their expressions worried.

Beside Frank, was … Katherine, the hunter that the monster had copied, still looking pale as she ate slowly, listening to the man beside her. Was his name Dwight? She thought that was right. He was in his fifties, hard and broad and grizzled-looking, his expression gentle now as he listened to Katherine's response. The skinny and rather weedy looking guy next to them was Garth. He'd told her four times. She couldn't imagine him shooting or hacking up anything. He didn't seem … determined … enough to be with these others. Talya sat next to him, on Cassie's other side. The nephilim was a surprise. Very tall and slender, with long dark red hair and wide sky-blue eyes, she gave the appearance of being shy, until you talked to her. A scholar, Cassie thought, more interested in the past than the present.

On the other side of the table, not so easily visible to her, the older man, Twist and Dean and Sam's half-brother, Adam Winchester. She hadn't been able to get a handle on him at all. His eyes were a pale blue-green, nothing like the deep green of Dean's, or the warm hazel of Sam's. He had the same high cheekbones, and the same broad shoulders and narrow hips as his brothers, but that was where the resemblance stopped. Adam watched a lot, she'd noticed, and said very little.

Next to him, was another nephilim, Duvsha. She wasn't very tall, around five seven, or five eight, close to Cassie's own height. Her dark honey-blonde hair was a mass of long ringlets, loosely restrained at the back of her neck by a curved leather cup and lacing. She was, Cassie observed, the only one who could get a smile out of Adam.

Sam and his … girlfriend? Lover? Cassie wasn't sure which it was or if it was both, sat on her other side. Sam had changed enormously from the gentle-faced young man she'd met in Missouri. He was harder now, she felt, and sadder. Tricia, at five foot eleven or taller was a good match for him, her easy-going nature making him smile often.

They didn't look as she'd imagined them to be. Not that she'd had much to go on, with only Dean and Sam as her reference points for hunters. Collectively they seemed … scarred, she thought. Perhaps because they had all lost friends and family to the life that they refused to give up. Maybe because they had spent years dealing with the monsters that society didn't know about … monsters like the thing that had come into house, looking like a person, looking like a friend, and turning into a nightmare. She shuddered slightly. She would need sleeping pills to get through tonight without revisiting that memory.

Monsters … and now demons and angels they were talking about. Everything she'd thought was a made-up fairytale for people with too little ambition and too much time on their hands. All real. She looked down at her plate, picking up a roll and mopping up the remaining sauce with it, surprised by her hunger. It would make a hell of a story – except that no newspaper or network would ever touch it because it was too unbelievable. She frowned as a thought occurred to her, turning to Sam.

"Sam, when you say Hell is rising, what does that mean, exactly?"

Sam looked at her, his fork suspended above his plate. "Good question."

He turned to look at Ellie and his brother. "Ellie, this war … in Kansas … is it being fought on this plane, or the one that Heaven and Hell exist in?"

Ellie pursed her lips in thought, and got up from the table, walking to the living room and the television set that had been set up in the corner. She picked up the remote and turned it on.

On every station, special news broadcasts were showing. She turned up the volume and backed up to the armchair, easing down into it as she watched the anchor.

"_- we aren't getting any pictures or footage at all from the area, but the military has been alerted and have mobilised from every state surrounding Kansas –"_

She flicked to another channel.

"_- reports of fires, looting, vandalism have not been exaggerated; it's very difficult to see what's happening in any of the counties now as a pall of black smoke covers the countryside –"_

And another.

"_- we are with General Atkins on the Jewell County/Nebraska state line. General Atkins, can you describe what we're seeing here – or rather not seeing here." The reporter gestured and the camera panned around to what might have a pleasant rural landscape if it hadn't been mostly obscured by smoke. "Do you have satellite images showing what it's like beyond the smoke?" The General's face was stony. "No comment, gentlemen. We'll be moving in at 0300 hours and this mess will be squared away." He turned abruptly and walked away and the reporter turned back to the camera with an uncertain smile, "And I guess we'll just have to wait until the situation is indeed, squared away –"_

And another.

"_- so you're telling me that there is no surveillance possible from either space or ground level, and one Lockheed has disappeared somewhere over the state –"_

Ellie looked around at Sam. "I'd say it's taking place on this plane."

"Jesus." Twist stared at the screen beside her.

The hunters had risen from the table, gathering around the television as the news reports went on. Nothing was visible beyond the state lines, black and grey smoke obscuring even the street signs in the towns that crossed the borders.

Cassie walked in between them, her brows drawn as she looked at the scene. She turned around and her eyes met Dean's.

"They can't get any signals in or out of Kansas – what does that mean?"

Dean looked down at Ellie.

"It means that Heaven and Hell have control of the state," Ellie said, meeting his eyes worriedly. "No one will be able to see in until one or the other wins. And it won't be confined to Kansas, that's just where it's starting."

* * *

Sam looked at his brother as they walked the perimeter near dawn.

"What's the story with Cassie, Dean?"

Dean shook his head. "What do you mean?"

"You told me nearly everything. But not quite."

His brother smiled slightly. "When I saw what she'd done, in Charlotte, I panicked. Called her and told her to get to Portland, didn't think about anyone tracking her here. It didn't occur to me how that might look, but Ellie …"

"Ellie looked at the results and thought you were panicking for a different reason?"

"Yeah. More or less." Dean sighed. "Cassie didn't help when she got here. She, uh …"

Sam's eyes narrowed as he looked at his brother's face. "Thought she could pick up where you left off?"

"I guess."

"She didn't notice the ring?" Sam frowned, his mind jumping ahead.

"She did, I think she just thought it was worth a shot." He shrugged. "It's sorted, but it made things harder than they needed to be."

Sam snorted. "Understatement, dude."

"Yeah."

"Ellie alright?"

Dean looked sideways at him, wondering how Sam had gotten there so fast. "Yeah. Why?"

Sam shrugged. "If she thought you still had feelings for Cassie, it must have worried her, that you might … you know."

Dean stopped walking, and closed his eyes. "Yeah. It did worry her."

"Sorry, man, it's just … women think about that stuff, you have to know that."

"I didn't. That never occurred to me." Dean looked at him. "I don't think she's ever going to forget that, Sam."

"She won't forget it. No. But the trust will come back."

"How do you know that?"

"Because she loves you," Sam said simply.

Dean nodded, thinking of her face earlier, her solution to the problem of Cassie. Maybe Sam was right, maybe it was all healing. He started walking again, his gaze ranging over the shadows under the trees.

"What about you?" he asked after awhile.

"I'm not going."

"Good."

"You don't seem all that surprised." Sam looked at the sky, the blackness fading where the mountains reared up in the east.

Dean shrugged. "If Trish hadn't been able to convince you, then the broadcasts should have."

"Yeah." He stopped walking. "People are dying down there, Dean."

"I know." He shook his head. "And if I had a magic demon machine gun, I'd be down there, wiping them out. But I don't. And this time, I think that we have to leave it to Michael and the dicks to do their job."

"Do you think they'll succeed?"

"I don't know, man," he said softly. "I guess we're back to praying again."

* * *

Dean closed the bedroom door quietly, putting his boots down near it and stripping off. He eased under the covers, moving closer to Ellie.

"Any sign of trouble?" she murmured sleepily. He sighed and rolled against her.

"No. It's all quiet out there." His arm slipped around her. "I was trying not to wake you."

"Normal sleeping habits are back." She stretched and looked over her shoulder. "Apparently the sleeping like the dead thing is only the first three months."

"Sam's not going to Kansas."

"Good."

He smiled against her shoulder. "You talk to Trish about it?"

"Didn't say a word. She's very intuitive about people."

"What about Kansas?"

"What about it?" She could hear the tension in his voice, knew he wanted to hear that things weren't as bad as they seemed. She couldn't tell him that.

"Do you think … are people dying there?"

"Yeah, they are. A gate was opened and the Princes rose and possibly a hundred thousand demons have had absolute free rein there. Maybe more. The Host is fighting them, but … those fires … the numbers of demons that could have come out in the first rush … the death toll will be very high."

"Is there anything we can do?"

"We can find the ritual. Stop Lucifer from regaining his powers." She turned a bit more, to see his face. "Because if he does, then the Host won't be strong enough, not after what Cas did last year, and every massacre will open more gates, all over the country, and all over the world."

She listened to him breathing for a moment, trying to find the words for the things she'd discovered. "Pen found something; a – I don't know what to call it exactly – a paradigm maybe … to do with destiny. If something that was supposed to happen doesn't – if that line is broken then everything switches to a new line, and there's another event horizon with another set of events leading to the same ending."

"What?" He shifted, leaning on his elbow as he looked down at her. "So we stopped the Apocalypse, but that made this happen?"

"In effect, yes."

He shook his head slowly. "And if this gets stopped, there'll be another thing?"

"I don't know. I don't think every single aspect is designed to keep falling over. It may be in our situation, that the thing that was supposed to happen was that Lucifer was supposed to die. He didn't, and now he could be resurrected with a soul, which would put us on a different path entirely. Or he will be killed and that will be the final end of this line and things will return to balance." She looked up at him. "I'm just not sure."

He pulled her close. "I take it we won't find that out until it's gone one way or the other?"

"Yeah, that's about it."

"This is so far above my pay grade that I don't even know what to think about it."

She smiled. "I don't think we have much say in how this gets played out. The dominant pieces on this chessboard are going to be the Princes and the angels."

"Yeah. Maybe." Somehow, he didn't feel that. He'd been dragged into and through enough of the games between Heaven and Hell that it seemed unlikely he'd be able to sit this out. He tightened his hold on the woman in his arms.


	41. Chapter 41 Sam Is Broken

**Chapter 41**

* * *

Twist looked down at Ellie from the high cab of the truck. "We won't be more than three days. It's only about nine hours one way."

"Just be careful, okay? If you feel anything out of the ordinary, get the hell out of wherever you're at and run." Ellie thought of the cold, lifelessness that had drained them in the Sixth level. That was their signature, the Fallen, draining the life from anyone around them.

"Will do."

He put the truck into gear and the engine rumbled as it rolled away from her, a blast of blue smoke escaping the exhaust stack. She could kick herself for not thinking of the library earlier. Dean had mentioned again this morning that forgetfulness was a well-known side effect of pregnancy. She had to get him off those sites.

She turned away from the road, walking back to the house. It was good up here, she thought. They had a clear line of sight in every direction but east, where the forest and, more distantly, the Cascades, rose up. Dwight and Garth had gone down to the other house to bring up the servers, printers, boxes and baskets and chests of documents that Cas had brought from Jordan. In addition to the sitting room, she'd commandeered the narrow formal dining room for research purposes. It was too small to seat them all for dinner anyway.

She waited as she saw Cassie walking toward her, her heeled boots a little unstable on the soft ground.

"Morning," Cassie said.

"Was the room comfortable?" Ellie started walking again, slowly.

"Yes, very." She hesitated for a moment, and Ellie looked at her. "I was wondering how you have such a good knowledge of Heaven and Hell."

"Long, long story." Ellie smiled at her ruefully. "I had to do a lot of studying up on them a long time ago, and … well, ended up a bit of an expert in the field."

"How long have you known about the whole, uh, angels and demons thing?"

"Oh, a few years now. Both sides were very active on this plane a while ago; it was kind of hard to miss them."

Cassie's brows rose. "Not for most of us."

"That's true." Ellie slid a glance sideways, wondering what Cassie wanted.

As if she felt the thought, Cassie turned to her. "I was wondering if there's anything I can do, to help out with whatever you guys are doing?"

"You're a journalist, Dean said. An editor?" Ellie stopped, looking at her.

"Yeah."

"We could definitely use some investigative skills. Twist, Adam and Duvsha have gone to Montana to get my library – it's mostly written in English, unlike what we've been working on. If you don't mind, we could really use help going through it."

"Happy to," she hesitated, her brow wrinkling a little. "I don't have any knowledge in this area …"

"That's alright. We're looking for references to something. I'll give you the notes, and then it's just the usual needle in a haystack search routine."

"Uh huh. Speaking of which, is there any reason you can't search online for this information?"

Ellie laughed softly. "The material we're looking through isn't online. It will never be online."

"Oh." She wasn't sure what to say to that. "It's, uh, forbidden? Or too secret?"

Ellie's smiled faded. "Too dangerous."

She turned away and started to walk toward the house again, Cassie walking with her in silence.

* * *

Dean stretched out in the unfamiliar bed, his arm sweeping the side next to him, knowing it would be empty, compelled to check anyway. He opened his eyes and looked around, blinking in the bright sunlight from the east-facing windows.

It was a large room, and currently filled with boxes of different sizes, shapes and contents. He looked around for where he'd dumped his clothes last night – early this morning – and spotted them on the floor near the foot of the bed.

He headed downstairs once he was dressed, following the smell of fresh coffee to the kitchen. Sam and Tricia were already there, reading the printouts from the news services. He poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Anything interesting?" He sat down in the chair next to Sam. His brother looked up.

"Well General Atkins' troops went in across the Jewell County line and haven't been seen since."

Dean shook his head.

Tricia looked up at him. "Dick Roman called a press conference for Friday."

"About?"

"He doesn't say." She sipped her coffee and started reading again.

"Sam, which storage unit did Dad leave the military ordnance in?"

"Uh, there were AP mines in the Buffalo unit." Sam frowned as he tried to remember the others. "And uh, the rocket launcher was in the one in Cleveland. There was a box of claymores in the Washington unit as well. What are you looking for?"

"The claymores." Dean finished his coffee. "Good for home defence."

Sam looked at him. "For here?"

"Can you think of a better way to stop demons than by zipping hundreds of steel shot balls at them?" The corner of his mouth lifted. "We'll lay 'em out in kill zones. They're not pressure operated so they won't do anything until we push the button. Then they'll do a lot. Makes it easier for a limited force to do maximum damage."

"You sound more and more like Dad every day."

Dean snorted. "Man kept us alive, Sammy."

Tricia looked up, smiling at Sam. "Sammy? I like that."

Sam shot a look of annoyance at his brother.

* * *

Ellie looked up as Frank came in to their server room. "Dwight's got the servers; we should probably make a few tables for them."

She nodded, getting up and heading down the hall for the trestles. They needed twelve long narrow tables set up, the quad CPUs were system-connected to increase the processing power, and the new routers were Frank-Devereaux-modified specials whose purpose in life was to find random unused addresses and lie about their own existence. They'd need a table for the printers as well. Between the news reports coming in on Kansas and Roman's sudden flurry of activity, there would be a lot of reading to do.

Dean saw her staggering down the hallway with six trestles tucked under her arm and grimaced.

"What is wrong with you? Would it kill you to ask for help?" He took the trestles and followed her into the server room.

"They're not that heavy and I'm supposed to exercise, it keeps me from putting too much weight on."

She heard the snort behind her. "I can still count your ribs, Ellie."

"You didn't see the breakfast I ate this morning. Talya cooked for me."

"Doesn't seem to have had any effect on you." He looked around. "Where do you want them?"

"Along the walls. The tops are eight feet long." She pointed to the table tops as Frank came in and took a trestle from Dean.

"How many computers do you two need?" He looked at the six sitting on the table in front of him.

"A lot. We're running searches on a lot of stuff." Frank grunted as he set up the trestles. "Grab one of those tops and get it on here while I set up the rest."

Dean leaned the trestles against the wall and picked up the top, lifting it onto the trestles carefully.

By the time Dwight and Garth brought in the first of the processors, six more tables were set up and Dean watched as Ellie and Frank organised them, plugged them in and started them up.

"Frank, you heard from the lab?"

"Not for a week or so."

"Were they supposed to check back with us on a schedule, or just when they got close to having something?"

"Uh, I can't remember, Dean. Ellie?"

"On a schedule, once a week." Ellie typed in a series of commands, connecting the machine to the router.

"Are either of you worried that we haven't heard?"

"Not really." Ellie turned in the chair and looked at him.

"No." Frank crawled under the table and hooked the cables down, plugging them into the power sockets one by one.

"Ellie, I'm going to do a run up to Tacoma, you feel like getting out?"

"Tacoma?"

"Dad had a storage unit up there. Stashed away some claymores, for a rainy day."

Her eyebrows went up. "Sure, why not."

* * *

Cassie glanced at Tricia, sitting beside her, the two of them working their way through the overnight printouts.

"How come you didn't keep on with medical school?"

Tricia looked up and shrugged. "My dad wanted it, me not so much. I wanted to hunt, which, ever since I left school, everyone has told me I'm mad to want."

"They might be right." Cassie looked around at the shambles of the living room, still cluttered with boxes, piled with books and files and notebooks.

"They probably are right, but it's what I want to do." Tricia shrugged.

"How long have you known Dean and Sam?"

"Not long. A few months now." She looked away for a moment. "I'd heard of them before, of course."

"Of course?"

"Sure, they're kind of famous in certain hunting circles."

"What are they famous for?" Cassie leaned forward, looking at the younger woman.

"Well, Dean going to Hell and living to tell the tale, for starters. Although he's been in and out a couple of times now. And they stopped the Apocalypse. Some hunters thought they started it as well." She looked down at the paper in front of her. "I haven't heard the full story yet."

"Sorry, Dean's been in and out of Hell?"

"Mmmm … Ellie couldn't save him from the hellhounds in the end. She was trapped by an angel. But he was raised four months later by another angel."

Cassie sat back and looked at Tricia, uncertain if she was being played or if all this was true.

"Is that how Ellie knows so much about Heaven and Hell? Trying to save Dean?"

"I guess so. She found a way into Hell years ago. I think she was looking for a way to get him out. But she figured out that the angels were helping the demons to kick-start the Apocalypse." She looked at Cassie, a slight tint of red rising on her neck. "You should probably ask them about it, I'm probably talking too much about other people's business." She looked down at the pile in front of her. "And we need to get on with this."

Cassie nodded, turning her gaze back to the stack of paper next to her. Hell, as in, a place. She couldn't imagine it. Anymore than she could really imagine demons and angels fighting a war in Kansas, she thought sourly, though there was no other explanation for the blackout to the state, which was now edging into Nebraska and Missouri and Oklahoma.

And these people, working to try and find a way to stop it. She was having a hard time with that as well. Why were they doing it? Why had they chosen to live in a perpetual nightmare of monsters and legends and danger? She shied away from the word _hero_, deeming it too melodramatic for use in the real world. There were no heroes in this world, where the biggest prize was how many investments, how much money could be accumulated. But there had to be some reason for the desperate efforts she saw here.

* * *

_**I-5 N, Washington State**_

Ellie leaned back against the corner of the door and seat, listening to the music, a small smile curving her lips.

Dean glanced at her. "You look … contented."

"Seems like old times." She looked at his profile against the racing scenery. "I relax more when we're on our way somewhere."

He shook his head. "I hate to argue with you, but I remember plenty of miles when you were far from relaxed."

"That was different," she sniffed.

"Yeah." The memories of that trip were a mix of good and bad. But they'd lost their sting, somehow. They were just memories now, a part of their shared history, a time they'd gotten through.

"Cassie asked if she could help out this morning."

"And can she?" He glanced at her curiously. There was no edge to her voice, no undercurrent of emotion, one way or the other. She might have been talking about Tricia or Talya.

"Sure. When Twist gets back with the books, there's a mountain of reading to do."

He looked over at her. "She doesn't know what she's looking for."

"She'll know. I'll give her a list."

"Good."

Another lot of memories that no longer had an emotional impact on him, he thought. He could remember meeting Cassie, the time they'd spent together, working things out in Cape Girardeau with her, but it was thought-memory now, not an emotion-memory.

"You were up early this morning."

"Was that a question?"

"I guess. It was a late night."

"Yeah, I couldn't sleep." She shook her head slightly.

"Why not?"

"Too much going on. My brain wouldn't turn off." She smiled as she noticed his brows drawing together. "I'll catch up, don't worry."

"I like worrying." He stared ahead mulishly. "Why did Twist leave this morning?"

"He and Adam and Duvsha went to get the library from Thompson Falls."

"You don't have enough to read?"

The corners of her mouth tucked in. "A lot of the books, especially the occult ones, have references in them to much older sources. We haven't found a word of the ensouling ritual anywhere else, but it might be somewhere in them."

In one of those books there'd been a spell to open a gate of Hell, he thought. God knew what else was in them.

"What was your father doing with claymore mines anyway?"

"He had a lot of military stuff tucked away here and there. I think maybe he was just storing stuff for Caleb," he looked across to her, unsurprised when she nodded at the name, "I don't think he was planning a frontal assault on Hell."

* * *

They reached the outskirts of Tacoma at eleven, and Dean turned off and began to wind his way through the residential areas, taking a circuitous route to the storage unit that lay on the north-western side of the city.

It took only a few moments to load the boxes into the truck. Ellie wandered around the unit, looking at the items that were stacked on the shelving and piled over the floor.

She stopped in front of a section that was filled with books, sneezing at the damp, slightly mouldy, smell, her finger trailing along the spines as she tilted her head to read the titles.

"Dean? Is there another box we can use to take these?"

He looked around and found a stack of empty boxes near the back, coming to stand behind her and reading the titles over her shoulder. He frowned at the first few. They were all occult-related, witchcraft, devil-worship and demonologies. What had his father been doing with these?

"Which ones?" He put the box on the floor and looked at her.

"All of them."

He stacked the books into the box, grunting as he lifted it and carried it to the car, settling it alongside the boxes of mines in the trunk. He looked at his watch. They'd be home before dark.

"You hungry?"

"Starving," she agreed.

"Let's get some lunch."

* * *

_**Scotts Mills, Willamette Valley, Oregon, 2 days later.**_

Ellie walked through the house quickly as she heard the distinctive pop and whistle of the truck's compression brakes.

The place looked more lived in now, most of the protection covering it was hidden, and permanent, the boxes emptied and cleared away, shelving filled with books, the server room warm and humming as Frank finished up with the network. The dining room was lined with bookshelves now, mostly empty, waiting for Twist's delivery, and two tables, covered in files, stack of printouts, journals, notepads and the ancient texts that Talya was still working on, sat in the centre of the room.

The four men had grumbled and groused about furniture moving, but none had complained when they'd finished, and they could move easily around the rooms instead of having to pick their way through the stacks of boxes and crates.

She heard the slamming of doors and hurried along the hall, opening the front door as Twist came up onto the porch.

"All done." He grinned at her.

"Great. The room's set up." She half-turned, pushing the door wide.

"Uh, can we get a coffee first?"

"Sure." She laughed nervously. "Sorry."

It didn't take long to bring them all in once they'd roped in the others, and the dining room was no longer easy to get into. Ellie and Talya sat on the floor, opening boxes, sorting through the books and stacking them onto the shelves.

* * *

Adam looked up from the gun he was cleaning as Sam came into the room.

"Hey."

"Hi. Mind if I join you? I've got a bagful of weapons that need cleaning."

"No. Of course not." Adam moved the pieces to one side, making more room on the table, and turned back to the barrel he was cleaning.

Sam watched him curiously for a moment. "So, really, no nightmares, no flashbacks?"

Adam looked up, frowning slightly. "No, I don't remember much at all."

Sam nodded, pulling out the Taurus and unloading it, his eyes on the gun as he thought of the single clear memory he had of his half-brother in the cage, awake, shocked, empty. Michael had used their father, once and only for a short time, but Dad hadn't had his mind bent by the experience. He hadn't been trapped in the cage either.

Adam stared at him, his brows drawing together as something whispered softly to him, deep in his mind, a faint voice or voices, he couldn't tell. They were telling him something, something important, something about Sam.

"I remember you, Sam." Adam's voice broke the silence. Sam looked into his face and felt a chill as he realised that the pale eyes were unfocussed, empty-looking.

"I remember Lucifer torturing you, and Michael holding you down."

As if the words had unlocked a door, Sam remembered it too. His nervous system ignited at the memory that was stronger than he'd thought, the remembered pain coruscating through the nerve endings, bringing sweat to his face, and a sobbing breath from his chest.

"I remember Lucifer saying he could twist you into a demon in years instead of centuries, Azazel's blood was so strong in you." Adam turned his head slowly, his eyes gaining focus but the pupils shrinking down to pinpoints as he stared into Sam's. "He said that the physical pain was a key, but only to unlock to the mental and emotional pain – and I remember you screaming until your throat had gone and all we could hear was the blood bubbling inside your chest."

Sam sat in the chair, unable to move, his muscles locked in paralysis, his chest heaving with the effort of trying to breathe, as Adam's voice went on and on, bringing the memories of the pit back, one by one in graphic detail.

"He knew, Sam, knew that you could never defeat him, he and Michael laughed about it. You were too weak to kill him, you see, they knew that they could do anything to you, they could kill everyone you'd ever met and you still wouldn't have the strength to rise up against them and smite them down."

His heart was beating too fast, shaking his ribcage as it expanded and contracted, pumping his blood around his body with a rushing, gurgling noise. He couldn't move his head, couldn't close his eyes, couldn't not hear what his brother was saying to him.

"They had a lot of tricks, and it didn't matter that they were tricks, not down there. It was as real as everything else. Don't remember when they eviscerated your brother in front of you?"

The memory crashed into his mind, complete with every sense, the smell of the blood filling his nostrils as he tried to not see, not hear, not taste.

"Or what they did to your mom and Jessica? I thought that would break you, but you just kept taking it. And then they knew that it didn't matter what they did, you couldn't fight back. Couldn't use your rage and your hate to grow enough backbone to rise up against them."

Sam was drowning. The memories were legion, thick and fetid and viscous and he was sinking under them. His heart was racing, he couldn't breathe any more, darkness was closing in around him.

He fell out of the chair to the floor, his eyes rolling back in his head. Adam looked over the table at him, the whispering dying away.

"Well, I guess I remember some things, after all."

He put the gun back together and reloaded it, slamming the magazine home and flicking on the safety as Sam had taught him. He left the cleaning equipment out on the table and stepped over his half-brother as he walked out, whistling softly between his teeth.

* * *

Tricia looked up as Sam walked into the room.

"Hey, where've you been? Thought you'd gone off somewhere without me." She smiled at him. He walked past her, and pulled his duffle from the closet, unzipping it and throwing it onto the bed beside her.

"Sam?"

He went to the chest of drawers, pulled out a handful of shirts and tossed them onto the bag, going through drawer by drawer and pulling out his clothes, throwing them onto the growing pile.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Tricia got off the bed, walking around the end to him. She reached out and touched his arm, her gaze flashing up to his face as she felt the rigidity of the muscle under the thin cloth of his shirt.

"Sam, you're scaring me." She tightened her grip around his arm, stopping him as he went to reach for another drawer. "Tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I've just got to get going." His voice was deep and hoarse, and he didn't look at her.

"Go where?" She pushed against him, and he lifted his head to look at her. "What's going on?"

The spasm that crossed his face was fleeting, she wasn't sure if it was anger or pain.

"You know where. I gotta get down to Kansas." He stood for a moment, looking down at her, then turned away, going to the wardrobe. Salt, shells, the sawn-off double barrel, the serrated knife and his Taurus were tossed on top of the clothing.

"Why?" She looked at the guns. "You said you weren't going to try it."

"Changed my mind."

"Why?"

"Because I did." He turned back and began to shove the pile into the bag, his face tight and hard, his gaze fixed on what he was doing.

She hesitated, not knowing what had happened, not sure if she should get Dean and Ellie involved, or what would be the best thing to do. Something had happened, he had done more than change his mind, he looked driven, she thought. She bit her lip, then turned and picked up her own pack, filling it quickly with clothing and her own ordnance.

"What are you doing?" Sam looked up finally as she zipped up the pack.

"Going with you."

"No."

"Yes."

"I have to do this alone." He picked up the duffle, slinging it over his shoulder.

"What a load of crap." She picked up her pack, sliding the straps over her shoulders.

He frowned at her. "This has nothing to do with you."

"It has everything to do with me because it has everything to do with you." She stared at him defiantly.

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Because we've been fucking? C'mon, Tricia, grow up. I don't love you, you mean nothing to me."

The words bit into her and she struggled to keep her face expressionless. This isn't Sam, she told herself furiously. This isn't Sam, he wouldn't say that, he's not cruel.

She cleared her throat. "Then it won't matter if I come along, will it?"

He scowled. "I don't want you with me."

"I can come with you, or I can follow you. Your choice, but I'm not letting you go on your own."

"Fine."

"Fine."

They walked down the back stairs, bypassing the living areas of the house and let themselves out silently, relocking the door behind them. The Camaro was an inky blue shadow under the trees, and they walked to it without a word, throwing their bags into the back seat and getting in.

Sam took it out of gear and released the brake and they coasted silently down the beginning of the road. At the first turn he started the engine and turned on the headlights, when they were far out of hearing of the house behind them.

Tricia stared into the darkness, wondering how she could get the man beside her to talk about what had happened, what the hell he thought he was doing. It was a long way to Kansas, she thought with a small flicker of hope, she could get through to him in that time. She had to.


	42. Chapter 42 Lancea Longini

**Chapter 42**

* * *

_**Scotts Mills, Willamette Valley, Oregon**_

"Sam and Tricia have gone." Ellie looked at Dean over her shoulder, her face pale, as she poured out coffee for him.

"Gone where?" He took the cup she handed him automatically, his eyes narrowing as he saw her worried expression.

"Gone to Kansas, I think."

"What?"

"They left sometime in the night. In the Camaro. No note, no discussion, just gone."

"Sam said he wasn't going to go." Dean sat down at the table slowly.

"Something happened." She looked out the kitchen window. "Something happened too fast for her to let us know."

Dean put his coffee down and rubbed his hand over his face, thinking about possible options. Not many, he thought.

"I'll call Cas. He can intercept them and bring them back." He looked at her, getting to his feet.

She nodded. She had a bad feeling about this, about the suddenness of it. It wasn't like Sam, and it wasn't like Tricia to have not made an attempt to let them know. It told her that Tricia had been rushing, had been panicking.

* * *

Dean walked out into the garden, breathing deeply. Sam had been sure, he knew that. Whatever had changed, whatever had happened, it had taken his brother by surprise. But nothing had happened.

"Cas? Castiel, got your ears on? Really need some help here, can you come?"

The garden remained still and empty. He turned around. "Cas, c'mon. I'm not dicking around, we really need your help. Sam's … Sam's on his way to Kansas."

_Out of range?_ He thought, turning around again and still seeing only the trees and plants and the long vista of the valley beyond. _Or too busy? Too tired of helping out?_

He sighed. The angel wasn't coming. He'd have to figure out something else.

* * *

"Ellie?" Frank came into the kitchen, looking around.

"Here, Frank." She looked at him, a small crease appearing between her brows as she took in the expression on his face. "What's wrong?"

"I can't get hold of the lab." He stopped in the doorway. "And … you'd better take a look at this."

She followed him into the server room, sitting down next to him as he pulled up the footage from the security camera across the street from the lab.

The video was dark and grainy. She looked at the timestamp in the corner. Six-fifteen, yesterday. Two figures walked toward the door of the building, and stopped there. After a few minutes, one pushed the door open and walked inside, followed by the other one. The door closed behind them, and Frank manipulated the image, zooming in on the doorknob. It hung loose, pulled free of the door.

"Crap."

"Yeah."

She closed her eyes. "Alright, we'll have to send someone over there. You seen Dwight this morning?"

He shook his head. "Been in here since dawn."

"See if you can do something with the faces of those two."

"There isn't much there."

"I know, just … try, okay?" She got up and walked out of the room, her heart sinking. There was no doubt in her mind that Roman had found the lab.

* * *

Cassie and Talya were already in the library, reading through the books that had come from Ellie's library in Thompson Falls. They looked up as she leaned in the doorway.

"Have you seen Dwight or Garth this morning?"

Both shook their heads. She continued on to the living room, hearing the television playing the latest round of special news bulletins about the situation in Kansas. If it hadn't been so damned not funny, she would have laughed. Situation? For all humanity's love of end-of-the-world scenarios in the media and popular fiction, they were really hopeless at recognising the real deal when it came along.

Dwight, Garth and Katherine were sitting around the television, drinking coffee and watching as the news teams tried to figure out ways to see inside the darkened state.

Dwight looked around as she came up. "Might as well be trying to look inside Mordor," he sniffed.

"Might as well be Mordor to all intents and purposes now," she agreed, watching as a helicopter rose behind the television vans and cars, lifting and turning. Her hands tightened into fists as it attempted to cross the line of smoke, a pall reaching into the sky for hundreds of feet. The smoke swirled furiously around as the rotor blades chopped through it and it tilted forward slightly, heading deeper. Less than a minute later, they heard the sound of an explosion, the smoke closest to the border was outlined in yellow and blue and green, then more black smoke billowed out, adding to the wall.

"They're not quick at learning, are they?" Garth shook his head.

"They won't acknowledge that it's out of their league." Dwight's mouth twisted.

Ellie turned away from the television, burying her anger at the sheer stupidity. "Listen, you guys, we can't get in touch with the lab. Can you drive to Tennessee and see what's going on?"

Dwight leaned forward, hitting the mute button on the remote, and getting up. "You think Roman's found it?"

"Yeah, I do."

"No problem." He glanced at Garth and Katherine. "Feel like a little road trip?"

They nodded, getting out of their chairs, and heading out to load up the truck.

"Gonna take us a few days to get there." He glanced back at the television. "Don't want to get too close to Kansas."

She nodded. "I think via Albuquerque and Dallas should be safe enough for now. But come home the northern scenic route, all right?"

"Yeah." He scratched the grey stubble that covered his jaw. "What exactly do you want us to do there, Ellie?"

"If no one's there, then go in, look around, see what you can see, report back." She sighed. "If the leviathans are still there, or you even think they're still there, then hang back and watch it. Hang back a long way."

He nodded. "I haven't seen Sam or Trish this morning."

Her expression became bleak. "They left, last night sometime. We think they've gone to Kansas."

"Sam still wants to take on Lucifer?"

"I guess. I don't know what happened, Dwight." She lifted her hands helplessly. "Yesterday he was fine. I think Trish went with him, to try and turn him around."

"Let's hope she can do it then?"

"Yeah."

She turned as she noticed Dwight's gaze go past her shoulder to the doorway. Dean walked into the living room, looking from Ellie to Dwight and back.

"Something else?" He looked as if he didn't really want to hear any more bad news.

"We've lost the lab. Dwight, Garth and Katherine are going to eyeball it for us." She shook her head.

"Great. Well, to add to the fun of the day, Cas isn't answering." He walked over to them. "It could be he's too busy smiting demons or whatever the angels are doing there, but I don't think so."

"No. He'd come, if he could." She looked up at him. "He doesn't like to let you down, especially now."

He lifted an eyebrow at her. "Especially now?"

"Since the Purgatory thing, you know."

"Yeah. Well. We might be out of angel range, but I don't think that's it either." He looked at Dwight. "You're taking the long, long road to Memphis?"

"Yep. And back again. We'll see you in about ten days."

"Go talk to Frank, Dwight. He's got some gear for you."

Dwight nodded and left the room, and Ellie stepped closer to Dean, leaning against him as he put his arm around her.

"Get the feeling it's all going to shit?" She looked up at him, seeing the frustration in his face, knowing it was mirrored on hers.

"Yeah, I do."

* * *

Cassie closed the book and set it on the pile of books she'd been through, rubbing her eyes as her thoughts reeled around confusedly. Certainly a lot out there she had no idea about, she thought tiredly.

She looked at Ellie, seated across the table from her, reading through another massive tome about black magic. It might have helped if she'd had any background in this at all, even an enjoyment of the subject in fictional works, but she'd kept her life practical, pragmatic and sane, choosing only the high-brow end of literary fiction to indulge in.

"Tricia said that Dean went to Hell."

Ellie lifted her head, looking across the table at her. "Yeah. A long time ago."

"What happened?" Cassie leaned on her elbow.

Ellie closed her eyes for a moment, her bemusement at Cassie's sudden curiosity warring with her need to not let that memory surface. She opened them after a moment, looking at the other woman expressionlessly. "He made a deal with a demon to save Sam's life."

It wasn't what Cassie had been expecting her to say.

"Oh. Uh, what happened to Sam?"

"Cassie, if you want to know this stuff, you really should talk to Dean about it."

"I've tried. He won't tell me what happened over the last six years." Cassie looked down at the book under her hand.

"Then perhaps he doesn't want you to know."

"Looks that way, doesn't it." She felt a brief stab of regret and pushed it away. "But you went to Hell as well, to find a way to get him out?"

"Yes."

"How did you … how did you even know that you could do that?"

"I didn't. I just kept trying to find a way to do it." She looked at Cassie thoughtfully. "This is all pretty ancient history, why do you want to know about it?"

Cassie shrugged. "When that … thing … was in the other house, I realised how much I don't know about a lot of things. I'm trying to fill in the holes, I guess. I'm starting with Dean because he's the one I know."

Ellie nodded, recognising how out of her depth Cassie must be feeling. "That's fair enough, but a lot happened, Cassie. And I mean a lot. It can't be summarised or tidied up or even explained very well, most of it. It doesn't come under the category of 'memories to share with others'." She took a deep breath. "A lot of what we've seen or done, we don't look back on ourselves. Ever."

"How is it that you're even sane?"

"Therapeutic violence." Ellie's mouth twisted wryly. "And good friends."

"You're saying I shouldn't be trying to find out anything about him. Or you." Cassie leaned back in her chair.

Ellie shrugged. "I'm saying that it's not a very fertile field of investigation. People aren't really just the sum of their experiences. You won't know who he is now just by knowing what's happened to him."

Leaning forward, Cassie looked at Ellie, seeing something she'd missed before. "You've loved him for a long time, haven't you?"

Ellie met her eyes steadily. "Yes."

* * *

The moon rose slowly over the Cascades, and the landscape became a stark black and white, all the shades in between gone. Dean looked at Ellie's face, her skin gleaming white in the bright light, her bright hair darkened, the shadows showing the bone structure under her skin. He shifted closer to her, and let his lips brush over her temple.

"What are you thinking?"

Her eyes opened and she sighed. "You don't want to know."

"That bad, huh?"

"Worse."

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "Can't be worse than what I'm thinking."

She snorted. "Care to put that to a bet?"

He shook his head. "No, you cleaned me out the last time."

"Exactly."

The soft scrape of a foot along gravel caught their attention, heads snapping around in unison as the dark figure emerged from the shadows under the trees and crossed the bright clearing to them.

"I told you I'd come back when you needed me." The boy was taller, his voice deeper.

"Jesse?"

"I have something for you, Dean." His head turned to look at Ellie, his forehead creasing.

"This is Ellie, my, uh, wife," Dean stumbled a little over the word, wondering if it would ever come naturally. "You can trust her."

Jesse stepped closer, and held out his hand. Balanced on it, a long object rested, wrapped loosely in cloth.

"Hell and Heaven are fighting, on this plane, right now, Dean."

"Yeah, we know." He got up, walking the couple of steps to take the object from Jesse. He unwrapped the cloth awkwardly, letting it fall as he held up a length of iron rod, tipped with a three inch triangular spearhead, and equal length of hardwood.

"What's this?"

Behind him, Ellie got to her feet and came across the grass toward them, her eyes wide as she looked at the weapon Dean held.

"_Lancea Longini_." She looked at Jesse as he smiled slowly.

"Yes."

"What's Lancea Long – whatever you said?"

He looked at her, releasing the pieces as she took them. She found the hole where the iron slotted into the hardwood shaft, and twisted them together. Holding the spear, now a little under seven feet long, she rested the butt on the ground, being careful to keep her hands away from the tip. Dean looked at it closely. The pointed tip of the head had been broken off.

"The Holy Spear, the Spear of Destiny, the Lance of Longinus." She stared at the broken tip, shaking her head slightly. Talk about a weapon out of legend, out of time, she thought.

Dean looked at her blankly. "Still no clue what you're talking about."

"The spear that pierced Christ's body when he was on the cross," she elaborated.

Jesse nodded. "This can kill the Devil."

Dean turned and looked at him. "Yeah?"

"Because it has God's blood on it, Dean," Ellie said patiently, picking up the cloth and wrapping it around the head again. She freed the two pieces with a deft twist and wound the cloth around both. She looked at Jesse curiously.

"How did you find this?"

"Not hard. I can find most things, if I know I'm looking for them," Jesse said simply. "This one was easy, most people think that those fancy ones in the museums are the real deal, they didn't go looking –"

"For what a simple Roman soldier would have been carrying." Her mouth lifted at one corner as she finished his sentence.

"Right."

She shrugged. "Most people prefer the fable to the truth."

"Right again."

Dean looked at them, shaking his head inwardly at the easiness between them now, after Jesse's suspicions of her five minutes ago.

"So Sam needs this." He looked at Ellie, knowing what she was going to say, not wanting to hear it anymore than he wanted to think about what it would mean.

"Yeah, he will." Ellie looked down at the wrapped spear in her hands, her heart sinking as she realised that they would – Dean would – have to get the spear to his brother.

He looked at Jesse. "Don't suppose you can get there and drop it off to him?"

"I'd be captured in a second, Dean. Both sides have been hunting for me high and low these last few months." Jesse shook his head emphatically. "You can get it to him. I think you'll have enough time."

Ellie's attention sharpened at his words. "Can you see this line of destiny, Jesse?"

"Some of it. The Devil has to be killed in this line, or nothing will survive. Beyond this ending I can't see anything at all."

"Great." Dean ran his hands over his head, closing his eyes.

Jesse looked at Ellie. "Is he alright?"

"He doesn't like being forced into doing things he doesn't want to do."

"Who does?" He looked down at the spear in her hands. "You understand the importance of this, it cannot be lost."

She nodded, understanding all too well the gift he'd brought, the power of it and the danger of it. "Yes, I understand."

He turned to leave. "I have to go, as far as I can now, I can feel them out across the land and if I stay too long in one place, they'll find me."

"Jesse, do you know what they're looking for?" Ellie asked quickly, needing answers.

He stopped. "They're looking for a soul to raise the Devil to power again."

"Do you know which soul? Where it is?" She stared at him as he hesitated.

"No."

"What about the ritual, the ritual they'll need to ensoul Lucifer?" She thought frantically of what else she needed to know. "Do you know what it entails? What's needed apart from the soul?"

He shook his head. "I know there are records of it, still in the world. But I don't know where they are, or how to find them – at least not in the time we have."

"Thanks anyway." She watched him walking back into the shadows, then turned to Dean. "You have some very useful friends."

"Yeah." He looked at her. "I'll have to go down there, won't I?"

She saw the fear and doubt in his eyes. They were in her too. "I think so. Jesse was right. This is too important."

"I don't want you here alone."

"I've got Frank, Twist, Adam and Talya and Cassie, I'm not alone, Dean."

"Ellie, I've got an unbelievably bad feeling about this." He looked down at her, his hand resting against the side of her neck.

"Maybe it's for you, not me."

"I don't think so." He turned and they walked back to the house. "I'll put the mines around the place tomorrow morning, before I go."

* * *

"I don't understand, you were freaking out about Sam going down there, and now you're going as well?" Cassie looked at Dean across the table. Dean shrugged at her and kept eating. He didn't want to go, it was the very last thing he wanted to do, despite his knowledge that Sam needed the spear, couldn't destroy Lucifer without it.

She looked at Ellie. "Why are you just letting him do this? You can stop him!"

Ellie raised an eyebrow. "I'm not letting him do anything. He's doing what he has to do, and he's not happy about it, Cassie, so give him a break."

"God, I don't understand you people." She threw down her fork and got up, staring around the table at them. "Don't you care if he dies?"

No one answered, and she stormed out of the room.

"Hmmm." Twist looked down at his plate. Beside him, Adam kept eating.

"What time do you want head out, Dean?"

"I want to lay out the claymores before we go. If we can get that done quick enough, we'll go straight after." He finished his food, pushing his plate aside. "We take shifts, we'll be in Grand Junction sometime day after tomorrow. Then you turn around and come home."

Twist nodded. "Puts you pretty close to Kansas."

"Yeah, just a few hours, I'll go in across the Colorado border, head straight for Hutchinson. About a day." He looked at Ellie. "Nobody leaves the house. Not for anything. Not until Twist gets back."

"SOP, Dean, we won't take chances."

"Adam could stay, you know. I can drop you off on my lonesome." Twist looked at Adam, who nodded readily.

"No, everyone in pairs. Two pairs of eyes are better than one and we don't really know what's going on out there right now." Dean leaned back, looking at the two men, then turned and looked at Ellie.

"What do I tell Sam about this damned thing?" He glanced over his shoulder at the spear.

"He has to hit the heart. Through the rib cage on an angle will be the easiest. But he has to hit the heart the first time or the power will be gone."

He nodded, thinking how goddamned impossible that was going to be for his brother. Better not to think about that right now. He looked around the table. "Did we hear anything from Dwight?"

"Demon signs are spreading out from Kansas but just omens, thunderstorms, lightning storms, some earth tremors." Frank pushed his glasses up his nose and looked at Ellie.

"They'll be trying to spread out but with just the one gate open, and the Host sitting on their doorstep and the Princes god knows where, it's not serious yet." Ellie stood up, taking the empty plates to the sink. She leaned against the edge of the counter.

"Except for the people living in Kansas," she added tiredly.

* * *

_**Scotts Mills, Willamette Valley, Oregon. Next day.**_

Dean handed Ellie the remotes to the mines. "Keep them somewhere easily accessible. They're all placed in expanding kill zones, all sides, colour coded."

She nodded. He was packed up, ready to go, and Twist and Adam were waiting for him.

"You think I've got a snowball's of getting through?" He looked down at her, his breath catching. He didn't want to leave, not now, not at all. The sense of events closing on him was getting stronger, and she was so vulnerable.

"Yeah. I think they'll leave you alone, both sides." She put her arms around him, laying her cheek against his chest. "I don't know why, but I think they will."

"Even carrying the spear?"

She thought about that for a moment. "Especially carrying it. There are a lot of legends about it, how it protects the bearer." She looked up at him, her eyes darkening as she thought of him going into that battlezone. "Going in, I don't think you have to worry. Coming out again, that's a different matter."

He slid his fingers through her hair, lifting her face to his. "Don't take any chances, alright. No matter what. I'll be back in four days, max."

"I won't." She looked at him, and tried to keep a hold of the thoughts of all that could happen in four days, happen to him. "You too, okay?"

He nodded and bent his head, and her eyes closed as he kissed her, her arms tightening around him. She'd understood Cassie's fear and frustration, but couldn't act on it, couldn't tell him what he could or couldn't do. Michael had once asked her to give him up for the good of the world and she'd refused the archangel, but then she'd known there was another way. She felt him shaking slightly and held him closer, their kiss deepening as passion was subjugated to the overpowering need to stay together, a yearning to capture this moment for all time, in case it was all they would get.

He released her and she stepped back reluctantly, watched him get into the truck. Twist waved as he pulled away, but Ellie stood still, arms wrapped around her chest, watching until the dust cloud had blown off the road and she couldn't hear the engine any more.

She'd suggested going with him last night, when they'd lain close together in the dark. She'd known his reaction but she'd said it anyway, knowing that she wouldn't be able to help, knowing that her being there would only make the job harder for him. His imagination had fed him a preview of what could happen and the horror in his eyes had forced her to drop it, to promise that she'd stay here.

She turned back to the house and walked inside, closing the door and walking down the hall to the library.


	43. Chapter 43 A Woman Without A Fate

**Chapter 43**

* * *

_**Memphis, Tennessee**_

Dwight lay on the asphalt roof, wishing he'd thought to bring a blanket from the car because the goddamned thing was cooking him. He ignored the rivulet of sweat that ran down past his eye and adjusted the focus on the binoculars carefully, until the interior of the room was clearly visible.

The room was a shambles. It looked like a tornado had been through it. He shifted his view to the other rooms on this side of the building and saw more of the same. No one was there; they'd trashed the place and left it. He couldn't see any of the staff. Maybe they'd done it after everyone had gone home. It was a small hope.

He rolled over, his breath hissing in as his skin touched the hot surface of the roof in a new place, and sat up. Garth and Katherine were waiting in the stifling but shaded heat of the roof stairs landing.

"Can't see anyone there." He came in through the door and crouched beside Katherine.

"Was it messed up?" Garth passed him the bottle of water. Dwight nodded, swallowing a long mouthful.

"Yeah, they didn't leave anything intact." He took another mouthful of the cool water and passed it back, wiping his mouth. "Roman definitely found out about it."

"How?" Katherine frowned at him. "How could he possibly, with all the labs here and overseas?"

"Actually, there aren't that many that have the skills, knowledge and facilities to build a virus." Garth looked at her. "And the quickest way to find them is to look through the DOD's financial records for funding."

Dwight nodded. "Frank said that too."

"Ah well." He got to his feet. "Better go over there and give it the once-over."

"I'll go." Garth picked up the throat mike and fastened it around his neck under his Adam's apple, tucking the earpiece into his ear. "You and Katherine just let me know if anything's coming."

Dwight looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "Get any samples you can, our job number was 606968."

Garth nodded, repeating the number under his breath. He picked up his bag and turned to walk down the stairs.

"And Garth, be careful."

"Sure."

* * *

_**Grand Junction, Colorado**_

The drive had gone quickly, relatively speaking, thought Twist, as he took the off ramp to the city. They hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary at all, in fact.

"Uh, take the next left then keep going until you get to the lights," Dean said quietly. Adam was between them, hunched up slightly, asleep.

"Nothing to write home about." Twist glanced at the other man. Dean shrugged, leaning against the passenger door.

"News report said it that the smoke had reached Enid."

"Oklahoma?" Twist sat back and checked his mirrors, turning left. "That was fast."

"Yeah." Dean forced his thoughts away from what was happening in the south.

Listening to the news reports day after day was a part of the job, but it wasn't one they enjoyed. They didn't know if the angels were winning, or losing or just holding their own.

They bypassed the city centre and skirted around the residential areas, trying to keep within the band of light industrial and commercial zones as they headed east.

"Okay, next street on the right, Twist. About four blocks down and take the right into the units."

Twist drove slowly into the storage unit driveway, following Dean's instructions in the maze of single-story garage units and narrow lanes. He pulled up in front of the one Dean had indicated and turned off the engine.

Dean got out and unlocked the padlock on the door, pushing back the clasp. He walked back to Twist's window.

"Go. Don't stop until you get back there." He looked into the older man's face, his expression twisting slightly. "Look after them, alright? Don't let anything happen to them."

"You got my word on that." Twist started the engine and pulled away, reversing the directions to find his way out again.

Dean turned around and raised the garage door, walking into the gloomy interior. The unit held only one thing. He gripped the edge of the tarp and walked slowly to the back, pulling it off as he went.

The Impala looked as good as she ever had, her paintwork smooth and gleaming, new lights, new everything practically. He folded the tarp and popped the trunk, tucking it alongside the bags of salt and pigs of iron. They'd left most of the gear in the trunk when they'd hidden her, and the guns still smelled of oil and solvent. He shut the trunk and walked around to the driver's door, his hand lightly caressing the smooth body.

"Hey baby, miss me?" His mouth lifted in a slight smile as he unlocked her and slid into the seat, closing the door after him.

The engine rumbled into life at the turn of the key, the throaty glub-glub rising through the chassis and into his feet, his bones.

"I missed you."

He put her into gear and eased out of the garage, turning tightly. If he had to go to a state that was a battle zone between the powers of good and evil, he was determined to go with her.

He grinned a little as he turned onto the street, feeling his heart lift slightly, despite everything coming for him. He headed east, following the signs to the 70.

* * *

_**Outskirts of Hutchinson, Kansas**_

Tricia looked around at the blackened landscape. It had been like this, burned and crushed and desolated, since they'd crossed the state line past Arapahoe, on route 40.

The air was thick with smoke and tasted foul, metallic and sour and poisoned. Not a single blade of green grass remained in the fields or verges, not a single tree, or even a weed had survived what had happened here.

She could see the round disc of the sun, flat and colourless through the pollution that covered the sky, but had no sense of time passing here. Her watch, and Sam's, she'd noticed, had stopped the second they'd crossed from Colorado into Kansas. And what the hell did that mean?

Sam hadn't spoken to her at all during the long drive. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, his mouth a thinly compressed line as he stared at the road ahead of them. Gripped on the wheel, his knuckles showed the bone through the skin and she thought of how his arms must be aching driving like that for hundreds of miles. But he didn't let the slightest expression of discomfort pass over his face.

She'd tried talking to him, as they'd driven through Idaho and Utah. She'd almost given up when they'd crossed into Colorado. Nothing she'd said had had any effect on him, and he hadn't responded to any of her questions. She rubbed her brow with the ball of her thumb, trying to think of how to get through to him. Short of crashing the car, she couldn't come up with anything.

She'd stopped speaking altogether when they'd crossed over into Kansas. The first small town they'd come through had looked as if a bomb had been detonated in the centre of town. Cars and trucks and bikes and vans had been thrown around the streets, some on their sides, some on their roofs, some still right way up on their wheels but the tyres had been flattened and the rims looked as if the car had landed on them, after being dropped from an enormous height. Everything was black, and smoke rose lazily in the still air from things that were still smouldering. In the dark, driving through the night, she could see the still-burning fires for miles, like hungry red eyes in the blackness.

For a while she'd kept expecting it to get better, to be less devastating. But it hadn't. And some places were worse. A lot worse.

She shifted against the passenger seat, afraid to sleep, too tired to do anything but stare out of the window as they passed through more smoking piles of rubble and refuse. They hadn't seen a living soul. Twice, Sam had slowed down, pulling over into the shadow of a half-standing building, and she'd heard high-pitched whistling cries above them, the whisper and hiss of wings, although she hadn't been able to see anything, either above or around them. The noises had made her freeze up, too afraid to breathe until they'd passed over and gone. How Sam had known what they were, or how to avoid drawing their attention, she didn't know. One of the many, many things she didn't know about the man sitting beside her, she thought bleakly.

The first of the poles had made her curious. Until they'd driven closer and she'd seen what had been strung on them. She'd barely been able to get the window open in time, and then the smell had hit as well, and her breakfast had gone flying out, spattering along the road behind them. The poles were placed closer and closer together as they got closer to Hutchinson, the remains had not been picked over by birds – there were no birds left here, nor had she seen any animals or insects – but were rotting in the flat heat faster than she would have thought possible.

She kept her eyes closed or on the road.

* * *

_**Scotts Mills, Willamette Valley, Oregon**_

Ellie tipped her head back and tried to ease the strain on her neck. She had vague memories of researching and reading around the clock a few years ago, something she couldn't even contemplate right now.

"Here."

She looked up as Cassie put a cup of tea beside her arm. "You need a break."

"Yeah. Thanks." The tea was hot and soothing and she sipped it gratefully.

"Sorry about shouting at you the other night." Cassie took her chair on the other side of the table and put her own cup down beside the stack of books.

"It's forgotten, Cassie." She massaged her temples gently with the tips of her fingers, looking at the other woman.

"I still don't know how you did it," Cassie looked down at her cup. "I wouldn't have been able to."

"Did what?"

"Let him go."

Ellie smiled gently. "It was his choice to go. I didn't have anything to say about it."

"You could have stopped him; if you'd asked him to stay, he would have." Cassie looked down at her cup, wryly acknowledging to herself that it was the truth, no matter that she didn't want to believe it. Maybe no one else could have convinced him to stay, but the woman sitting across the table could have.

"But then Sam would have died, and possibly the world would be lost." Ellie inclined her head. "Do you think Dean could have lived with that?"

"At least he would have lived."

"That's not how he works." Ellie sighed softly. It wasn't so much a matter of self-sacrifice, although that's how it appeared to the outside eye. It was a matter of being able to do the job, with the responsibility that entailed. "It's not how either of us work. I don't even think it's how you work."

Cassie shrugged and looked away. "Have you heard from him? Or Twist?"

"Yeah. Twist called an hour ago. Dean's on his way. And Twist and Adam are on their way back." And the waiting was going to be hard, she thought. At least another two or three days.

"What's Frank doing?"

"Looking for a new lab. One that's more obscure." She sipped her tea. "Dwight hasn't checked in yet."

"It's just so … unbelievable." Cassie laughed nervously. "How do you deal with things that are so unbelievable?"

"I've had a lot of practice in believing in them," Ellie said dryly.

"Yeah, I guess." She gestured at the books surrounding her. "Even these … they make a kind of twisted logical sense, some of them, but the premises are fantastic, and I don't mean that in a good kind of way."

"Try and think of it this way. Everything is energy. Even the table, even the books. Just energy vibrating in its own way, following its own patterns. Our minds are also energy, although our souls and our minds and our bodies all vibrate to different patterns. But at one point they join up, and the vibrations become harmonious."

Cassie listened to her, watching her face as she tried to explain. It brought home again to her that she had no connections with Dean – not mental, not historical, not physical, not even emotional now. Who he'd been, the last time they'd met, was just not who he was now. And who he was now needed the woman sitting opposite her, explaining the nature of science and magic, the planes that separated ordinary existence from extraordinary realms, a creator who had envisaged and built a world where everything was thought of and planned and designed to be self-perpetuating, living forever.

"So you're … kind of … religious then? No offence." Cassie leaned on her hand.

Ellie laughed. "Uh, not in the sense you mean, I think. I believe in God. But not in what mankind has written about Him."

Cassie's eyebrows rose. "How do you believe in God but not in religion? Isn't that all we know about God, what people have written down and created?"

"God and religion are two different things entirely, Cassie. Think about it." Ellie smiled. "And on that note, I should probably go and see how Frank is doing." She got up, straightening her back slowly. "Thanks for the tea."

"No problem." Cassie watched Ellie walk out. _Think about it? What was there to think about?_

* * *

_**Memphis, Tennessee**_

Garth picked his way through the smashed glass that covered the floor of the first lab. He'd found the remains of the first body in the small lounge just inside the door. The second one lay to one side of him now, the bloodied shreds of a white coat with a name tag still jauntily pinned to one lapel. Anna Morrison. He'd stopped looking after that. His phone was recording, sending images back to Dwight and Katherine. They could look at it.

Every fridge was open, the deep freeze units were all turned off and filling with water. The floor was sodden, the water standing on the surface pink. Samples and slides had been thrown against the walls, making him wonder what else the lab had been growing, especially what they'd been doing for the government. But if it was infectious he was just going to have to live with it because he hadn't even remembered to put on a surgical mask before coming in.

He looked down and saw a metal drawer, from one of the refrigerators, pitched across the room but with most of the vials held intact in their foam padding. He set the phone against the side of a filing cabinet and started pulling out the vials, checking the project numbers against the number Dwight had given him.

606968 was the last vial in the drawer, and still intact. He was tucking it into his pocket when he heard the solid thunk of the rear door closing.

"Dwight?" He looked around, his voice barely a breath, hoping the mike resting against his throat was sensitive to pick it up because he sure wasn't going to say any louder.

"Yeah, Garth? I'm here." Dwight's voice was loud in his ear.

"Someone just came in."

"Crap. Yeah, I see them. Hide, you idiot." Dwight felt Katherine's fingers tighten painfully around his wrist as he watched the two men in dark coats moving through the first lab.

"Hide, now!"

Garth backed away from the drawer, looking wildly around now. Everything he saw was either torn to pieces or too obvious. He looked at the frosted glass door behind him, realising slowly that it wasn't another lab, but an office. Picking his way as quietly as possible across the glass and debris, he opened the door and slipped inside, closing it behind him. The room was large with two desks, a copier, fax and two walls of shelving, filled with reference books. It was also undisturbed. He walked fast around the desk closest to him and look under it, grimacing as he saw the kneehole was open on the other side. The second desk was old-fashioned, the front of the desk covered and the kneehole large enough for him to squeeze into.

From outside the office he could hear the sounds of more glass breaking, furniture being shoved around. He pulled the chair close to the cavity and wrapped his arms around his knees, tucking his face down into them. It wasn't much of a hiding spot, but surely they'd checked it the first time they'd been there, maybe they wouldn't check again.

* * *

_**I-70, Colorado**_

Dean leaned back and watched the road, glancing occasionally at the wrapped spear that rode shotgun on the passenger side. He'd passed through the novelty and delight of driving his baby again after a hundred miles or so, now it just felt normal – _reassuring,_ _great, comforting_ – but normal. He looked at the tapes in the box and decided against playing anything. He wanted to listen to the engine, listen to the road and, he realised with a wry surprise, he wanted to think.

He'd known that they wouldn't be left out of this latest destiny-plays-all-the-hits parade. He'd known it. So Sam was in Kansas by now, hopefully had met up with some of the Host, not been killed by a random demon. And he was here, heading for that same destination, with a legendary weapon riding beside him, and from what Ellie had said, the only way to finish this mess was to actually kill the devil this time.

Was this the act of a rational god? Maybe that was the wrong question. Maybe rational had nothing to do with any of it. Just a way that people could make sense of things that seemed to have no sense at all. He shook his head impatiently. Whatever it was, it didn't matter. They knew what they had to do. All that was left was to do it.

Sam was at least two days ahead of him. It was impossible to even plan anything until he could see how things were in there. His imagination, usually a vivid and torturous companion, was not giving him anything.

_If there's nothing you can do, no plan you can make, then don't waste your energy on worrying over it. Think of something you can do, or think of something totally unrelated. Doesn't use up so much energy._

Her voice in his memory. They'd been waiting on a job in northern Michigan, and he'd gotten impatient, feeling his nerves starting to twang. She'd told him that and then talked to him about day to day stuff. About music. About the car. When they'd finally been able to move and do something, he'd been calm and energised, not running on his raw nerves.

He thought of Cassie's outburst over dinner, and Ellie's response – the two of them talking about him as if he wasn't there. He couldn't remember now how he'd felt about Cassie when they'd met. It seemed like a million years ago, and he hadn't been that cocky, confident guy for a long, long time. He wondered how they were getting along, although they seemed to manage it alright most of the time. Had Cassie really wanted another chance? Had she somehow missed how different he was now? He shrugged those thoughts away. It was Ellie's response that had really surprised him. She could talk about not letting him do something, but most of the time she'd have signed herself on for the ride – only this time, she couldn't. Their conversation the previous night replayed in his mind. She'd backed down, had promised him that she wouldn't try to follow, would stay safe in the house and keep it locked down, but he could still feel the shock and terror that had risen in him when she'd made the suggestion, the thoughts that had instantly filled his mind, bringing sweat to his skin and making his heartbeat race in his throat. So long as she stayed safe, he could do what he had to do.

He felt his throat closing as he realised that he probably wouldn't be around to see his son born, or hold him, or teach him how to throw a ball, ride a bike, fix a car. He'd been thinking of doing those things for the last four months. Just privately, he hadn't even told Ellie about it. It had been a good thing to think of, a thing that had kept the nightmares away and the fears and doubts and guilt. He'd imagined spending years with them, his family, his own family. Now, it … well, it wasn't all that likely he'd survive.

He dragged in a deep breath, forcing away the regret, his fear, trying to get back to focussing on what he had to do. Twist and Adam would protect them. Keep them safe.

* * *

_**Baker City, Oregon**_

Twist pulled into the gas station, parking beside the pumps. The place was small and old, the paint faded along the storefront and the signs barely legible. Only another three hundred odd miles, they'd be home before dawn, he thought, glancing at Adam's sleeping form as he waited patiently for the big tank to fill.

He felt the cold gradually, as he stood there with the pump, not noticing how his hands and feet began to numb out. By the time the … drawing … sensation began, he could hardly move, and his heart was the only muscle still working well, the pulse beating fast in his throat.

The creature that came from the shadows of the building was unlike anything he'd seen before. It was hard to look at directly, his eyes veering from side to side, and the cold, directionless wind that accompanied it blew the rags and tatters of the dark cloak fitfully, fluttering against the deep hood that was completely black inside.

Twist heard the clatter of the pump as it fell from his fingers, could smell the gasoline as it ran from the nozzle and spread across the ground at his feet. He swayed, his strength gone, and fell to his knees as the creature drew closer to him. Finally his heart was slowing down, but too much and for too long. Darkness closed around the edges of his vision and he saw it bend over him, a long skeletal finger emerging from a shredded sleeve to touch his skin.

He fell back against the side of the pump, his eyes rolled back in their sockets, and the creature turned away, moving for the passenger side of the car, where Adam lay sleeping.

Adam woke abruptly when the door opened, the radio bursting into life, the tuner jumping from station to station and filling the car with the increasing noise of static in between. He turned his head as he felt a cold wind, his eyes widening as the creature crowded in, he was scrambling backwards across the seat, his back hitting the driver side door and it came closer and closer, a rank and foul odour coming from deep within the hood and blowing over his face.

"_Yes."_

Michael had made a place for him, far down in his mind, a place to hide when he couldn't bear watching what the archangel was doing any longer. He retreated there and hid, knowing that he'd left an empty hole in his mind, a place where sometimes other things lived. He didn't care. After the Cage, after seeing what he'd seen, watching his own body do unspeakable and horrifying things, he only knew how to survive.

He didn't hear the spectral voice, didn't feel the fingers of bone as they settled around his face like some hideous spider, didn't feel the push of the ancient and alien mind into his own. His eyes were open but the pupils had shrunk to pinpoints, and as the creature penetrated him the colour turned from pale blue-green to orange and then to red.

"_Bring the woman. Do not harm her. Kill the others."_

Adam's head tipped back as the fingers released him, then swung forward again. He sat up straight, looking at the open passenger door. He slid across the seat and pulled it shut, then opened the driver's door and got out, looking without recognition or interest at the man sprawled next to the rear of the car.

He put the fuel cap back on and got back into the car, starting the engine. From the bag on the seat behind him he took a book of matches, lighting one as he eased the car forward then tossing it back into the spreading pool of gas. He put his foot on the accelerator and the car leapt forward, tyres squealing as he went out of the driveway and turned onto the street, white smoke pouring out behind him. He could see the flicker of flames as he sped down the street, then there was an explosion and fire shot up into the sky, raining down around the gas station and spot-lighting a dozen more. The underground tanks were even more impressive as they went up, and he could still see the light of the fire as he turned a bend and left the town behind.

Within the room in his mind, Adam shivered. The hole was no longer empty. Something was in it, something not living, not dead. He stayed silent and still.

* * *

_**Scotts Mills, Willamette Valley, Oregon**_

The fire was dying in the grate and the room had cooled off. Ellie shivered and looked up, drawing her jacket around her as she got up and stirred the embers, tossing several smaller pieces on and a larger log on top of them. She stood and watched as the small flames licked desultorily at the wood, their reluctance to burn a likely result of the chimney cooling too much. She sighed and added a couple more pieces of kindling, willing it to catch. After a few moments it did, and the larger log started to burn slowly as well.

Talya, Cassie and Duvsha had gone to bed hours ago. She walked stiffly to the kitchen, and filled the kettle, switching it on and getting herself a cup while she waited for the water to boil.

She should give up for the night and go to bed, she thought tiredly, instead of standing here making yet another cup of tea and preparing for a few more hours of reading. There had been a few references to the ritual in the library, but no details, just passing mentions of rumour and legend and myth, which had at least correlated to the myth that Cas had told them.

She was fairly sure that the soul that the Princes were seeking was descended from all three lines of Watchers. And of course, the octavo versu was the Eighth Choir, the archangels of Heaven. She returned to the library, grateful to see that the fire had caught properly and a little more heat was collecting in the room. Picking up her notebook, she walked slowly back to the kitchen, reading as she went.

They still had the problem of knowing who was descended from which lines. All her sources had flown away to a state currently at war, and there was no way to verify anything that the angels might have known now. She looked at the list of references that Talya had put together again. One of them was to a third century book, written by a soldier who had been in an army that had invaded the lands that were now the border country between Turkey and Iran. She remembered the book. It had held another reference to ensouling, one that she'd been searching for years before, to reclaim a soul from Hell or Heaven and transfer it back to the body. She'd found the book in Azerbaijan, by accident. It had been in a box of books that the street vendor had sold to her for a few American dollars.

The kettle boiled and she poured the water over the tea absently, wondering where exactly on the shelves it had been placed. She picked up the cup and notebook and hurried back to the library. If Talya had read through it … or had she? She'd been listing references from Pen's research, before they'd retrieved the damned book from Montana. She put the cup down and almost ran to the shelves, looking along the titles, her eyes racing through them.

When she found it, she hesitated for a long moment before pulling it out. She'd skimmed this one, she remembered, looking for the way to get Dean's soul out. He'd already been saved by the time she'd found it.

She rested her fingers on the spine and pulled it out, carrying it to the table. Sitting down, she started to skim over the pages, turning them fast. The text was archaic but readable. She found the ritual for returning a mortal's soul to its body, and turned the page. The description that followed detailed an older ritual, the words cryptic and obscure, perhaps not wanting to spell out the exact purpose for fear of the Church's retribution. She scanned the text, but there were no further details to the ritual, just the vague and ominous warnings of the dangers. She was about to close the book in frustration when she noticed the footnote, in minute type at the bottom of the next page.

It referred to another book. Ellie read the title, a small crease appearing between her brows as she recognised it. She looked up, staring blankly at the fire. She'd seen that title, that book, somewhere recently. She turned and looked at the shelving that lined the walls, as her memory threw up a smell, damp and mould, and instantly she knew where she'd seen the book, where it was. She rose and walked to the section of the shelving they had put John Winchester's demonologies on. _Tredecim Hereses_. Thirteen heresies. The gold leaf had been almost worn away from the spine, but she could still make it out. Her hand froze as she looked at the author's name. Cesare Krivejko. How had she missed _that_ when they'd brought the books back from Tacoma?

She pulled out the book and took it to the table, setting it down and sitting, leaning her head against her hand as memory rose. _Remy Lavesseur_. She had hunted with him for six months, in 2011. But he wasn't a hunter, he'd been an Adept then, and his historical knowledge of magic had brought them together to track and kill a student of the Left Hand Path. He'd told her about Krivejko, she remembered, his trained voice bringing the life and the stomach-turning deeds of the black sorcerer from before Christ's time to vivid and frightening immediacy. She pushed the memories away and rubbed her forehead tiredly. If anyone had known of the ritual, it would have been Krivejko.

She opened the book and started scanning the pages. Written first in Aramaic, then translated to Greek and then to Latin, the copy she in front of her was in Latin, and she wondered distantly how much might have been lost in the translations. The ritual was near the end, the section of black magic practices. She looked at the page and shivered, then started to read.

_When the Morning Star crosses the Sun, the Devil will rise from his souled prison. The Devil can be resouled and regain his power across the face of the Earth and over the denizens of Hell and over the lords of Heaven. The ritual must be performed when the showers of Heaven are strongest, in the dark of the night when the crescent has vanished, and the heavenly fire comes to Earth from the Lion._

_An angel is sacrificed to provide blood and fire for the transformation. The soul must be a descendant of human and angel from all three of the lines of Araquiel, Azazel and Amaros, the only three lines accordant with the Devil in their falling. Only one child, unborn in the womb of the woman who has no Fate, has the right soul for the second rising of the Devil._

Ellie looked up, feeling her heart beat pounding. _A woman who has no Fate?_

_The Devil will ride into the woman, and into the child. When the transformation is over, the child must be cut from the woman and fed first with her blood. Then the ritual will be complete._

She stared down at the text. It couldn't be. She wasn't descended from an angel. Her parents were … she didn't know their ancestry, not really, but they couldn't have had angelic blood. They were ordinary people.

A woman with no Fate.

_Uriel "her actions are not recorded in the paths of Destiny"_

_Raphael "you are a meddler, a wildcard"_

_Michael "Outside destiny, outside Fate"._

_Christ, what did that mean?_ She looked around the table, getting up and knocking half a dozen books to the floor in her haste as she searched for her bag. It was sitting on a chair at the other end of the long room, files piled on top of it. She pulled out her phone and hit Dean's number.

"Leave your name, number and nightmare after the beep."

"Dean, it's Ellie …" she hesitated, not wanting to say it out loud, not wanting to say it to him when he couldn't get back immediately. "I found the ritual, listen I think Cas is in danger. I think he's been taken by the Princes for the ritual. Please, call me as soon as you get this."

She hung up the phone, trying to think of what else she could do. The house was reasonably well protected against any demon attack. She had the mines surrounding it. What else? She had to protect her child. That was the vital thing. Should she go? She couldn't fly out, it was too late for that. And she thought that once she left the protection of the house, they would be able to find her much more easily.

She sat next to the fire, shivering slightly despite the increasing warmth. In the morning, they'd double-check the defences. Lay extra boundaries out maybe. She looked down at the text again.

_When the Morning Star crossed the Sun_. Venus had transited the Sun in June, when Sam's hallucinations had become unbearable, she thought.

_The showers of Heaven_ … and … _heavenly fire from the Lion_. She rubbed her wrist hard against her forehead, trying to think what that could refer to. Meteor showers, of course, yes, the Leonid shower was in … November, she remembered. Soon. Very soon. She shuddered again, and tried to focus on what it was talking about, forcing away the fear which was close to becoming panic.

_The crescent?_ Crescent moon? Sometime after the moon had set, and the meteor showers were at their strongest. It would be two weeks before she was due. Was that a sign that it wasn't referring to her? She tucked her notes into the book and closed it, setting it back on the table, then piled more logs onto the fire, needing to get warm, to stop the chill from settling through her body. It couldn't be. They didn't have a part to play in this. They couldn't. She felt tears running down her cheeks and touched her fingers to them. She couldn't fight. She couldn't run. She couldn't hide.

From somewhere, deep within her, a feeling rose, filled with bright anger and hard with resolve. No matter what they tried, they would not succeed, she thought. She had another choice and she would take that over allowing their child to become Lucifer's body and soul. She felt warmth slowly returning to her as her determination grew stronger.


	44. Chapter 44 The Danger Within

**Chapter 44**

* * *

_**Memphis, Tennessee**_

Garth heard the crunching and crackling as the men walked over the glass fragments. It seemed to be getting closer, but he couldn't tell for sure. Occasionally there would a loud crash, or more smashing from the other rooms, sometimes sounding nearer, sometimes further.

His heart leapt into his throat when he heard the door to the office open, and a voice that sounded almost next to him.

"What are we supposed to do with the records?"

"Burn them all." The second voice was a little deeper, the man moving to the filing cabinets. He heard the rustle and flapping of files being pulled out and scattered over the floor, closing his eyes and breathing silently through his mouth.

"You know he was talking about this war business in Kansas."

"Yeah? Thought we were staying out of it?"

"Well we were, but now it seems like the demons could be winning."

"What difference does that make? They can't touch us."

"No, but they can destroy our food source, you imbecile." The third voice was clipped and articulate.

"Uh – oh, yeah."

"Don't make me bib you too, Ryan."

Garth froze.

"Sorry, Dick. Just wondering what the plan is?"

"The plan is that we're going to do some major chowing down – on the demons. Once the gate is closed and we've cleaned up, we can go back to business. But I'm not having my entire inventory wiped out by those whining, arrogant hollow-earthers."

"What about the hunters? How do we find the ones who set this up?"

"Oh, I know exactly who set this up. Only one human had access to the marker code. He's dead. We'll take care of the others soon enough. The vaccine is progressing, and now they're back to square one with their efforts to produce the virus. We won't have a problem getting ahead of them this time."

"So when do we go to Kansas?"

"We'll give the angels another couple of days, just to see if they can make progress on their own. Then we'll roll in and do it for them. Say middle of next week."

"Well, get started. I want the whole building burned to the ground by sun-up."

There was a moment of silence. Garth could hear an odd sound, a liquid kind of sound as if the leviathans were shooting water pistols at each other. The smell of butane hit him a second later.

The lighter fluid went up with a solid whoomf. He heard them crunching their way out of the lab, and he tried to keep his breathing shallow as the heat grew in the room. He needed to give them enough time to get out of the building. He wasn't sure he was going to be able to.

When he wriggled out from under the desk and looked around, the whole office was on fire and the labs around it as well. He looked down the way he'd come in, but it was a solid wall of flame. The other corridor seemed a little better but he couldn't afford to be trapped in here.

_C'mon, think, Garth, think. Fire escape. There has to be a way out_. He went to the window, looking down through it. Yes, there it was. He'd only have a second or two to get out once he'd opened it, he knew. The extra air coming in would turn the blaze into an inferno. On the count of three, he told himself. One, two … he slammed the window open and dove out, rolling flat as he hit the metal landing, the long flames shooting out over him. He winced as he felt his knee start stinging and hobbled down the steps, speeding up as he noticed the fire spreading below him.

* * *

_**Hutchinson, Kansas**_

The Impala swerved and sashayed from one side of the road to the other, Dean trying to avoid the wrecks, holes and bodies that littered the road stretching in toward the town. The complete devastation of the countryside had been shocking when he'd crossed into Kansas, but as he got closer to Hutchinson, the destruction of the towns, each getting worse as he passed through or around them, was a new blow, wrenching at his nerves.

He'd stopped when he saw the poles, looking at the body hanging from it for a long time. There hadn't been much left, the skeleton had been broken into pieces, was being held together by tendons and what shreds of skin remained. The muscle and fat had gone completely. He let the image burn into his mind, needing fury to keep going. He didn't know if he'd be able to sleep again.

The smoke was as thick as fog here, shrouding the broken buildings and making skeletal ghosts of the dead trees that lined the road. To his left, beyond the rubble and wrecks, he could see a faint red tinge to the lower layers of it. He looked to his right and saw a slightly brighter area. He turned the car onto the next right, wiping the sweat from his face, trying to breathe shallowly enough to cut the tastes and smells, but deeply enough to steady himself.

He shook his head slightly as he remembered Carthage, and the foreboding he'd felt entering that town while the devil had been doing his work there. It had looked normal compared to this.

The light continued to brighten along the road, and he realised after a mile that he wasn't swerving from side to side anymore. The wrecks were still there, but they'd been cleared to the sides, leaving an open thoroughfare that he could drive through. Demons love chaos, he thought dryly, angels love order.

It was almost dusk and the light was much brighter now. He could see a loom behind the next shallow hill, and he accelerated slightly, coming over the top to see an enormous field, grey and barren but cleared of debris, and filled with movement. He slowed down, looking at the shapes, lit up with their own radiance.

Angels. He'd found the base camp of Heaven.

Despite the size of the clearing, he found the Camaro easily enough, it was the only car in the whole area. He pulled up next to it and looked around. He couldn't see Sam or Trish anywhere, but in this section, tents and shelters had been erected, and he thought he'd have to go looking in them first.

He got out of the car, picking up the spear from the passenger seat, and started walking.

"Dean?"

He turned around, and saw Tricia coming out of a tent a few yards away. She looked tired and dirty, rough field dressings on her arms.

"Trish, what's going on?" He looked down at her, frowning as he took the black mottled bruising that covered one side of her neck. "Are you fighting?"

She nodded. "Yeah, it was fight or be killed. The demons have been attacking daily."

"Where's Sam?"

"He's been talking to Michael and some of the fallen." She put her hand on his arm, turning him. "I'll take you, it's too hard to describe places here."

Dean walked with her, looking around at the encampment. "Are there many humans here?"

She shook her head. "No, and we don't tell them we're human. They think we're nephilim."

"Why?"

"Because there are still some angels who believe humanity is a curse, and it's just safer this way. Baraquiel introduced us as nephilim. Michael hasn't let on, for whatever reasons he has." She shrugged. Her entire view of angels had been overturned.

"What about Cas? Have you seen him?"

"No. He was captured, in the first attack apparently." She felt him tense beside her, and laid her hand on his arm lightly. "Sam knows more than I do."

"Is he … how is he? Did he tell you why he decided to come here?"

She shook her head again, her lips compressed. "He hasn't said anything in days, at least, not to me."

He caught the pain in her voice and looked down at her. "Why did you stay?"

Her breath caught in a half-sob, half-laugh. "I can't leave."

Dean saw his brother, standing with several angels, his face and arms covered in grime, a livid red gash standing out on his cheek. Tricia slowed as they approached the group, and Dean nodded to her as she dropped back, turning and going back the way they'd come, her back and shoulders stiff with tension.

"Sam." He was glad to see that he was alive, upright.

"Dean … how the hell?" Sam strode over, looking over him, his brow creased. "What are you doing here?"

Looking into Sam's eyes, he could see that his brother was himself, but harder, colder. "The question is, what are you doing here? I thought you decided this was a dumb idea."

"I changed my mind." The defensiveness in his tone, the hint of unease behind his eyes told Dean that it hadn't been that simple. Something had changed, alright, but it had been pushed onto Sam, it hadn't risen from inside him.

"I got a visit from Jesse." He lifted the wrapped spear and handed it to Sam. "He brought this."

"What is it?" Sam took the bundle and unwrapped the cloth. "A spear?"

"The Spear." Michael's voice, smooth and rich and deep, came from behind them and they turned to face the archangel. His eyes were fixed on the small iron head of the spear. "Where did you get this?"

"A friend thought it might come in handy." Dean looked at Michael consideringly. The look in the archangel's extraordinary blue eyes was hard to define, but he thought it came fairly close to avarice.

Sam fitted the two ends together, hearing the muted click from within the haft as the iron rod locked into the socket, lifting it to feel the balance. "It's kind of lightweight for Lucifer, don't you think?"

"Fool," Michael snapped, walking closer to them. "That Spear is the only thing that can kill the devil."

Dean nodded, reluctantly in agreement with the angel. "It's the spear that killed Christ, according to both Jesse and Ellie." He stared at the broken tip. "It has God's blood on the head. If you can shove it into Lucifer's heart … he'll die – for good. And we can all go home."

Sam looked at him, a slow smile curving his mouth, his eyes like chill green glass. "Then I'm glad you made it here. Can I just go into Hell and kill him?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know."

"The Spear will protect the bearer from harm," Michael said softly. "But I don't think I'd trust a two thousand year old legend against the horde of Hell. And if you lost it … if they gained it, we could kiss our asses goodbye right now."

He looked at Sam intently. "When the Princes return, we'll have them all together, and we'll attack. You'll do better with an army at your back than you will alone."

Dean's eyes narrowed. He wasn't so sure about that. Michael seemed too relaxed, too affable, for a commander who was losing the war.

"You have a bit of time to catch up on events, Sam. The horn will sound when we're ready." The archangel turned away, returning to the two angels he'd been talking with.

Dean watched him walk away then turned to his brother. "Sam, what happened?"

Sam rubbed his temple absently. "I'm not sure. I was talking to Adam, and then I woke up on the floor." He shrugged. "When I woke up, I felt … I _knew_ that I couldn't let Lucifer get away with what he'd been doing, what he'd done. It was a really strong feeling, almost obsessive." He remembered going upstairs to pack, brushing Tricia's questions and concerns aside. "When we got here, it didn't feel so strong, it felt like maybe I'd … I don't know … but I try to leave, it gets strong again. I can't control it. It seems to be controlling me if anything, but there's nothing I can do to change that."

"You were talking to Adam … about what?" Dean frowned. It didn't seem like much of a catalyst for what Sam was talking about.

"I don't remember." They walked down to the Impala slowly. Dean turned his head to look at him.

"Must have been something. Did you ask him about his time with Michael?"

"I don't think so."

"Or his memories?" Dean pressed, watching Sam's expression change. "Or your memories?"

Sam stopped, suddenly pressing his hand hard against the side of his head. Dean stopped as well, looking at him worriedly.

"What is it, Sam?"

"Adam." Sam doubled over, dropping to his knee and resting his hand on the ground as a sharp pain stabbed behind his eye. He could feel Dean beside him, his brother's hand on his shoulder, gripping it tightly, a connection to reality. "He told me he remembered … he remembered …"

He convulsed, a thin stream of bile ejecting from his throat. "I can't. I can't remember. If I try … it's like acid in my mind."

Dean nodded, helping him to his feet. "Okay, it's okay, Sam. Don't lose that freaking spear, okay? I need to talk to Michael for a sec."

Whatever had happened, however it had happened, Adam had been involved. He thought back over the times he'd been with his half-brother, what they'd talked about, how the younger man had seemed. He remembered seeing a blankness a couple of times in the back of Adam's eyes, writing it off as a side-effect of being Michael's vessel for so long. Maybe it wasn't.

He turned around and saw Michael walking back toward him.

* * *

_**Scotts Mills, Willamette Valley, Oregon**_

Ellie woke with a start as Talya touched her shoulder. She was cold and very stiff, the fire dead in the hearth, the room icy.

"Did you sleep here all night, Ellie?" Talya felt her hands, shaking her head. "Come on, we have to get you warmed up."

Ellie got up slowly, leaning against the chair. The memories of last night, what she'd found, what she feared, came flooding back as she straightened.

"Talya … is everyone else up? I need to speak to Frank and Cassie as well."

The nephilim nodded. "They're in the kitchen. Come on."

They walked along the hallway and turned into the warm kitchen, the wood-fired range lit. Ellie sat down gratefully at the table and looked at Frank and Cassie.

"I found the ritual. Last night."

"That's good, isn't it?" Cassie looked from Ellie to Frank. "Now you can find the soul, figure out how to prevent it?"

Frank was looking at Ellie's face. "What's wrong?"

"It's me." She put her hand unconsciously over the bulge of her stomach. "It's the baby. That's the soul he needs."

There was silence in the room. Talya brought a cup of steaming tea to the table, setting it down next to Ellie. "You don't know that for sure."

Ellie sighed. "No, not for sure. I don't know if I'm descended from Amaros somewhere in my parent's lines. But I do know that I was supposed to die, when I was ten. And because I didn't, I was cut out of the destiny paths. The ritual refers to the mother of the child as a woman with no Fate."

"That's pretty vague." Frank looked at her. "Can we find out about this Watcher, about his descendents?"

"I don't know how. No one has seen Amaros for over a thousand years, apparently. He just disappeared and he could be dead or he could have been in hiding." She looked at Talya, who nodded.

"Yes, he was being hunted, by one of the Others, and he vanished."

Ellie looked back to Frank. "And everyone who might be able to tell us is in Kansas now."

Cassie cleared her throat. "So far it's just a possibility, right? That you're the one?" She looked from Ellie to Talya to Frank. "So what we need to do is make sure no one can get in here. Double everything maybe and sit tight?"

Ellie nodded. "Yes."

"Let's get started." Cassie stood up.

They laid new iron and salt lines inside the existing ones, covered the walls with wards and sigils and guards, demon traps and demon scares, and Enochian sigils to hide them from any angel's eyes.

* * *

"The Princes are actually angels, fallen angels. Lucifer tortured them for a long time. There isn't a lot known about them now. Their names, some of their history before they fell. A little about their powers. None of the angels really know how they were corrupted so deeply. Baal is said to be the oldest. The most powerful and the most treacherous." Ellie looked up the ladder at Cassie who was painting an Enochian symbol above the front door.

"So you need angel proofing as well as demon?"

"Yeah." She felt looked around the quiet clearing, feeling exposed and vulnerable. "These symbols, these wards and sigils, will hide the house entirely from any angel's sight."

"Good." Cassie finished the last letter and leaned back, nodding as she checked it against the drawn copy in her hand. "Done."

* * *

Frank and Talya laid out the guns and ammunition along the table in the living room. At either end, four small bottles of holy oil stood. Last resort, Ellie thought, looking at them as they came in.

Frank's phone buzzed and he opened it. "Yeah."

"Dwight, slow down, I'm going to the server room. Yeah, send it now." He closed the phone and looked at the women.

"Dwight, Garth and Katherine have just finished with the lab. They've got something we need to hear so he's sending now."

"Did they find a sample?" Ellie followed him down the hall.

"Yeah, apparently one survived."

"Do you have a new lab for them to go to, Frank?" Cassie said from behind them.

"Yep, found one in Boston. It's clean and it's extremely discreet. Roman won't find it." Frank turned into the room and sat down in front of the monitor, typing in commands to reroute the incoming data through a different gateway.

The first file was video, and they looked at Garth's recording of the lab, the destruction that filled it, his retrieval of the sample from the drawer. The recording ended abruptly as he'd entered an office.

The second file was audio and Frank adjusted the levels until they could hear it clearly.

"_What are we supposed to do with the records?"_

"_Burn them all."_

"_You know he was talking about this war business in Kansas."_

"_Yeah? Thought we were staying out of it?"_

"_Well we were, but now it seems like the demons could be winning."_

"_What difference does that make? They can't touch us."_

"_No, but they can destroy our food source, you imbecile."_

"_Uh, oh."_

"_Don't make me bib you too, Ryan."_

"_Sorry, Dick. Just wondering what the plan is?"_

"_The plan is that we're going to do some major chowing down – on the demons. Once the gate is closed and we've cleaned up, we can go back to business. But I'm not having my entire inventory wiped out by those whining, arrogant hollow-earthers."_

"_What about the hunters? How do we find the ones who set this up?"_

"_Oh, I know exactly who set this up. Only one human had access to the marker code. He's dead. We'll take care of his avengers soon enough. The vaccine is progressing, and now they're back to square one with their little efforts to produce the virus. We shouldn't have a problem getting ahead of them this time."_

"_So when do we go to Kansas?"_

"_We'll give the angels another couple of days, just to see if they can make progress on their own. Then we'll roll in and do it for them. Say mid next week."_

"_Well, get started. I want the whole building burned to the ground by sun-up."_

Frank stopped the file and looked at Ellie. "Interesting."

She looked at him, brows raised. "And how."

Cassie looked at them. "Does that mean the leviathans are going to help Heaven?"

"Sure sounded like it." Frank shook his head.

"I don't understand."

"I think Dick's worried that if Hell wins, there won't be any humans left around to eat," Ellie said dryly. "He's protecting his investment."

"How do we let them know?" Talya looked at Ellie, then Frank.

Frank shook his head. "I don't know."

He dialled Dwight's number. "Yeah, we got them. Thanks, good job."

"Yeah, no idea of how that's going to play out. Listen, this is the new lab – 8 Orchard Road, Salisbury Road. Take the sample there and call when you get there. Tell them I'll send full instructions. Yeah, take every precaution."

He closed the phone. "Well, we're in lockdown. Dwight's on his way. We can't get any of the intel to anyone who needs it. That about sum things up?"

"Yeah."

Both Frank and Ellie had their guns in their hands the second they heard the front door open, then close.

Frank rose silently from his chair and moved to the wall beside the door, Ellie crossing behind him to take position at a fifty degree angle from his position. She waved to Cassie and Talya to move behind Frank and released the safety on the SIG slowly.

"Anyone here?" The voice echoed slightly in the wide hallway and Ellie's eyes went to Frank's, one eyebrow lifted.

Adam came around the corner of the doorway and stopped, looking at them.

* * *

_**Hutchinson, Kansas**_

"What did you do to Adam?" Dean strode forward to meet the archangel.

"I don't know what you mean, Dean." He looked past him to Sam, who was still crouched, supported by one hand.

"You did something, Michael." Dean gestured behind him to his brother. "He was messing with Sam's head somehow."

"That's impossible. I didn't do anything to him. I kept him out of nearly everything."

Dean's hands clenched into fists as he tried to think of a way to get the archangel to just tell them what had happened to Adam.

The other two angels came up behind Michael to them. Both were Fallen, he realised, the lines and marks of time on their faces the only thing giving them away as mortal.

Michael looked around. "Dean, you should meet this Watcher, he founded the line that you're a part of. Araquiel, Dean Winchester."

The angel was tall and very broad-shouldered, long, dark brown hair held back from his face by a plain gold cirque, framing a strong face, with high, wide cheekbones, aquiline nose and deep green eyes. Dean nodded to him, unsure of the protocol required for meeting your ancestors and still dubious about what Michael said about Adam.

Araquiel looked down at him, smiling slightly. "I understand that you saved my son."

Dean felt his eyebrows rising, in spite of himself. "I did?"

"Travis, the nephilim who was a Seal," Sam murmured, turning to them, and getting to his feet slowly.

"Oh. Yeah." He remembered the silent little boy, his mother, Rachel. "Is he, uh, okay?"

"He turned eleven two months ago. Rachel and I – we're grateful." The Watcher bowed slightly, and Dean looked away uncomfortably.

"No problem."

The other angel stepped out from behind Araquiel, and Dean stared at him. Tall, broad shouldered, his copper-bright hair fell over his shoulders and back, and the wide, jade-green eyes were flecked with gold and rimmed in midnight blue. The Watcher standing in front of him had Ellie's eyes.

"Amaros."

Dean took the proffered hand, shaking it slowly as the bits and pieces of information he had fell into place one by one, and an arctic chill reached up his spine when he saw the answer in its entirety. Michael watched his face.

"Your Eleanor is descended from his line, I believe." The archangel shook his head slightly. "I knew she looked familiar, but I hadn't seen Amaros in over a thousand years and it wasn't till he turned up here that I realised."

Dean turned to him, his eyes dark, and the skin taut over the bones of his face with fury. "The Princes are looking for Ellie, right? For soul of our child, a child descended from the three lines of the Watchers that are compatible with Lucifer?"

Michael nodded slowly. "Yes. I think they are."

"You sonofabitch," he said slowly. "You gotta get me back; I have to get back there right fucking now!"

He couldn't believe he'd left her alone. They were hunting her, Adam had fucked over Sam and she was there unprotected. He could feel his muscles shaking in response to the adrenalin that was flooding them, could feel the pressure in his mind as he tried not to think of what could be happening sixteen hundred miles from where he now stood.

"This is a war, Dean. Even if I could leave, I wouldn't. My army needs its commander." Michael shook his head. "I can't spare a single warrior right now. Our numbers are greatly reduced and every sword – every one – is needed. I'm sorry, but I can't risk our forces, even for you, even for her."

Dean recognised the implacability of the archangel's decision. He was wasting his time with him.

"Where the hell is Cas?" He looked around, for any help at all.

"Castiel is in Hell. He was captured soon after the Princes rose and we haven't been able to see him or find him since."

"Goddamn you fucking dicks." Dean stared at him, his rage and fear compounded by the helplessness he felt, even as he was calculating the time and distance that lay between him and the house. It would take him two days to drive back to Oregon, assuming he could get out of Kansas as quickly as he'd come in. "Did you know about this? Did you know they were looking for her?"

Michael looked back at him steadily. "No. I didn't. Castiel told me that she'd been investigating the ensouling ritual, asked me if I knew about it – but the only thing I knew was what he himself knew, that no angel would ever perform such an abomination, that it was myth or legend from Lucifer's falling, a rumour put out by a mad human mage that resurrecting the dragon was possible."

He walked to the car, and laid his hand on the hood. "I can do some things for you, Dean." He looked down and the car lit up suddenly, hundreds of archaic and complex designs gleaming up from deep within the metal and then fading away. "No demon or angel will see you in this now. But that's all I can do."

"If they find her and do the ritual, Michael, everything will be lost." Sam walked to them, sweat still beading his brow and his skin pale. "You know that. Your army isn't strong enough now to resist them."

"I know Sam." He looked down at the spear in Sam's hand. "But at least we have a failsafe. We can kill Lucifer, you and me now, Sam. And make sure he stays dead."

Dean looked at Sam, his face hard and impassive. "I've got to go. Twist and Adam are the only hunters with Ellie."

Sam's eyes widened at the implications, his expression torn between the need to help his brother, as he'd always helped; and the compulsion in his mind to kill the devil that was driving him now.

Dean's eyes softened slightly as he saw his brother's anguish. "It's okay, Sam, I understand. There's nothing you could to do to help me anyway. Just kill the fucking devil."

He looked at Michael, at the Watchers standing behind him. "If I don't make it in time, then you fail too, Michael. Remember that."

The archangel stared down at him thoughtfully as he got into the car and started the engine. The rear wheels spun for a moment in the ash and gravel and char, then gripped and the black car shot over the field and back onto the road.


	45. Chapter 45 Long Way Home

**Chapter 45**

* * *

_**Scotts Mills, Willamette Valley, Oregon**_

Ellie and Frank looked at each other, lowering the barrels of their guns and letting out their breath together.

Adam looked at the guns, eyebrow raised. "Did something happen?"

Ellie flicked the safety back on, seeing Frank do the same. He reholstered his automatic in his shoulder holster as she put her SIG down on the table. Cassie and Talya rose from their crouched positions behind Frank.

"Ellie found the ritual last night," Frank said. "We're a bit more paranoid than usual."

"Did she?" Adam turned his head to look at Ellie, and she registered the indifference in his eyes with a sudden terrifying certainty. She was moving sideways, the warning rising in her throat as Adam's arm lifted and the .38 revolver in his hand fired. Frank staggered back against the wall, the bullet punching into the side of his chest, his head dropping to look at the red stain flowering against his shirt disbelievingly.

Ellie's hand was reaching for the SIG, her eyes narrowed on Adam's face when he brought the gun around onto her fast. She stopped, keeping both hands visible as she took in his aim.

"I guess I don't need to explain what I'm doing then, do I?" He looked at her expressionlessly. "Don't even think about moving or trying to get that gun, because we both know I can't miss at this distance."

He walked toward her, the gun levelled at her waist and reached out for the SIG, taking it from the table and putting it into his pocket. "Get me some wire."

Cassie and Talya stood still, and Adam's voice rose sharply. "Get me some fucking wire!"

Cassie jumped and looked around, seeing the coils on the shelf behind her. She looked at Talya. The nephilim's eyes were wide, her mouth tight. Cassie reached out for the coil, and took it from the shelf.

"Adam?"

Duvsha appeared in the doorway, staring at the still tableau in front of her. Her eyes lifted to Adam's face, frowning as she saw the emptiness in it. He looked at her for a moment, something struggling in his eyes, then it disappeared and his hand twitched, the revolver barrel swinging around and firing twice. Ellie was moving the second the gun's aim had shifted from her and she was behind the table when Duvsha fell to the floor.

He turned back immediately, a scowl appearing as he took in her new position. "Don't even think of fucking with me, I'm a dead man, I have absolutely nothing left to lose."

He turned the gun on Talya, and fired, the bullet hitting the nephilim high under the shoulder. She spun around and hit the shelves behind her, her face twisted with pain and fear.

"Come out, Ellie, or you can watch them all die."

Ellie straightened and walked out from behind the table, her face tight with tension.

"Better." Adam said, the gun levelled again at Ellie's stomach. He turned his head slightly. "Tie her wrists together. Tightly."

Cassie walked behind Ellie and bound her wrists, leaving as much slack as she dared in the loops of plastic-coated wire. "I'm sorry," she whispered to Ellie's back.

"And ankles. Hobbles, do you understand? Leave about six inches slack between them."

She bent and made the loops around each ankle, leaving a length of wire between them.

Adam looked at Ellie and shook his head slightly. "You really are too trusting."

The revolver's barrel swung around and Cassie looked into the small black hole at the end of it, her heart pounding against her throat as she realised she was going to die.

Ellie tensed herself to move, to draw his fire and then stopped. Adam was frozen, unmoving, his eyes flaring with red fire. He stepped forward without warning and struck Cassie on the side of the head with the butt of the gun, turning away as she fell to the floor and pushed Ellie out through the doorway. Ellie shuffled awkwardly forward, the wire limiting her movement. She heard the click of the lock behind her, as Adam closed the door.

"Move it." He pushed her shoulder.

"What happened, Adam?" Ellie asked quietly as she staggered forward.

"Shut up." He pushed her again, harder and she tripped against the wire, twisting hard to land on her shoulder and back, her breath hissing out as her arm took the brunt of the impact.

"Get UP!" He took a handful of her jacket and shirt, hauling her to her feet, his head turning slowly to look at her. "Don't talk, don't do anything but what you're told."

She looked back at him, seeing the red flickering against the pale blue irises, his pupils pinpoints and unfocussed. She got her balance and began to shuffle forward again. He wasn't possessed, exactly, she thought, shoving away the fear that had risen at the sight of those eyes, but something was definitely controlling him.

The Cutlass was parked outside in front of the porch steps. He pushed her to the trunk, and opened it, forcing her back against the rim and lifting her legs so that she fell inside. The lid slammed down and she wriggled until she lay half on her side, half on her back, her arms aching. Around her wrists, the wire loops had some slack and she slowed her breathing, taking longer, deeper breaths to shunt away the pain in her arms, lock down the fear that fluttered along her nerves and focus her attention on moving her wrists back and forth, working the loops and the give in the wire.

The engine started and the car moved forward, bouncing over the ruts and holes along the road.

* * *

_**I-70, Kansas**_

Dean watched the speedometer as he manoeuvred the Impala around the obstacles that cluttered the road. He'd be past the last town in half an hour and he could take it up then, nothing on the road until he reached the border. He was making an effort to keep his hands light on the wheel, focussing his attention tightly on the driving, on the car, on getting out of Kansas in one piece.

Behind the strained wall in his mind, fear was hammering to get out.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he turned onto the 70, putting his foot down hard. He'd have to get off the interstate at Colby, the attempts by the military to come in from Colorado that way had created a massive obstruction across it. He'd go north, cross the border at Sanborn, then pick up the 80. He wondered humourlessly if the demon and angel proofing on the car would hide him from the Highway Patrol as well. It didn't matter; he wasn't slowing down for anyone.

Music flooded out of the speakers at full volume, the steady beat and constant distraction necessary. He had to keep his focus on what he was doing. He had to keep the thoughts of what might be happening in Oregon at a distance. He had to ignore the growing certainty in his gut that he was too late, he was going to be too late.

He turned north and then west again onto SR 34, barely seeing the black and grey landscape now, the thick smoke that swirled and twisted away from the car as they raced through it, the broken buildings and contorted wrecks, charred bones protruding from them.

Ahead, the smoke and ash and fog formed a solid wall across the road as he passed through the tiny town of Sanborn. He eased back, letting the speed drop, knowing that on the other side, the normal side, the road could be blocked, either by the military or the media. The Impala swept through the wall, headlights blazing, and he came out the other side into bright sunshine, blazing in a cloudless blue sky.

Despite the fact that he knew it would be different, it was still a shock. From a world of black and grey, of ash and death and desolation, the front of the car came into a world of colour. He blinked as the depth and variety of colour assaulted his eyes, veering wildly past a news van that had parked itself across the middle of the road, its roof-mounted camera now tracking his progress down the street.

There were only a few representatives of the press here, by far the greater concentrations were on the interstates leading into Kansas, but there were enough to make his progress difficult. He touched the accelerator as he saw them closing in on the car, the heel of his hand hitting the horn as it seemed some might actually cross in front of him. Then he was through and speeding up as he found the road out, SR 385 due north. He caught a glimpse of the _Thanks for visiting Wray!_ sign as he sped away.

His phone was beeping insistently and he pulled it out of his pocket, holding it against the wheel as he looked at the new message notification. He pushed the button and held the phone against his ear.

"_Dean, it's Ellie … I found the ritual, listen I think Cas is in danger. I think he's been taken by the Princes for the ritual. Please, call me as soon as you get this."_

_Fuck._

He dialled the house in Scotts Mills. There was nothing, not a ring, not even a message from the phone company stating that there was something wrong with the line. He looked down at the phone and dialled Ellie's cell number. The phone was off, going straight to voicemail. He dialled Frank's cell. Off as well.

And Twist's. And Adam's.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

He threw the phone onto the seat beside him. The noise of the tyres as they crossed the seams in the concrete was rhythmic, and it matched the beat of his thoughts. _Too late. Too late. Too late_. He pushed in another tape and turned up the volume. There was nothing else he could do but keep going.

* * *

_**Hutchinson, Kansas**_

Sam walked into the small tent, ducking his head as he came through the loose opening.

Tricia looked around at him. "Is Dean staying?"

He shook his head. "Ellie … their baby is the soul that the Princes are looking for. He's gone back to Oregon."

She stood up as he walked toward her, her face whitening. "The baby? But how?"

"She's descended from the third Watcher. From Amaros."

He stopped in front of her, and lifted his hands to her shoulders, his eyes wretched. "I'm sorry, Trish."

She shook her head, looking away from him. "What happened, Sam?"

"I'm not sure." He sighed and sat down on the long narrow cot. "I can't remember the details, without feeling as if my head is going to explode. But it seems like it was Adam, somehow."

Tricia's head snapped around. "Adam? But Adam's supposed to be helping …"

"Yeah." He ran his hand through his hair. "I can't remember it. But something was … I don't know … planted in me? Awoken in me? I can't leave here, not and stay sane."

She frowned as she knelt in front of him, looking up into his face. "You mean, like a … compulsion?"

"I guess so." His forehead creased as he tried to describe it. "As long as I'm here, I feel mostly normal. More angry, but at least like myself." He sighed and looked at the doorway to the tent. "If I try and leave, even walking out, the anger gets stronger and stronger and I can't think of anything else, just killing Lucifer, destroying Hell."

He shook his head slightly. "So I'm stuck here. But you don't have to be."

She gave him a wan smile. "I can't leave either. I tried. The demons are watching the edges of the field."

She saw the flinch, deep in his eyes, and leaned forward a little, touching his hand lightly. "It's okay."

"No. It's not. It's a long goddamned way from okay, Trish."

"Why would you and Dean be trapped like this?"

"I don't know. Not really. Maybe because of what we did last time. Ellie told Dean that destiny hasn't been broken. It's just switched tracks. Lucifer apparently still has to die, and maybe because we were involved the last time, we have to be again. I don't know."

"How can you kill him?"

"Well, that we got some help on." He lifted the spear onto his knees, unwrapping the iron shaft. "This is the Spear of Destiny. And it can kill Lucifer."

She looked down at the dull black metal, the small triangular head, with its broken tip, then back up at him.

"This?"

He smiled. "That's more or less what I said too. Michael confirmed that it is the Spear. Dean said that it has the blood of God on it, and that it will kill the archangel if I can get it into his heart." He looked away. "I only get one shot at it, though, so I have to make sure I get it right."

"Toe to toe with him, Sam?" She looked down at the weapon again. "How are you going to survive that?"

"Well, we're all kind of hoping that the Spear itself will protect me long enough to the do the job."

"Can it?"

"That's the legend." He wrapped the shaft again, setting it behind him on the cot.

"When?" She drew in a deep breath, trying to hide her fear from him.

"When the Princes return. Michael wants to attack with the whole Host." He smoothed the hair back from her face gently. "And I'll go in with them."

"_We_'ll go in with them, Sam. _We_."

"No." He shook his head decisively. "I'm not in that place where I can ignore you anymore, Trish. If you're there, I'll be distracted; I'll be worried about you. You need to stay here, away from it all."

Tricia looked down, feeling the prick of tears against the back of her eyes. "Don't make me do that, Sam."

"I have to. This is it; this is the only chance we'll get with a real hope of succeeding." He rested his hand against her cheek gently. "And I can't fuck it up, Trish."

"You won't."

"I will if you're there." He looked into her eyes, his own pleading for her to understand this. "I can't risk you, I _won't _risk you, don't you get that?"

* * *

_**Somewhere between Oregon and Kansas**_

Ellie lay back in the trunk. The wires weren't coming loose. The loops had been just tight enough to make wriggling out of them impossible. She couldn't sleep, but she was trying to rest, to husband her resources as much as possible. Trying to keep her mind empty and dark, her thoughts and emotions held aside.

It wasn't working all that well.

She wondered about the way things had worked out … when her fate had been changed to accommodate this new prophecy, this new node in the map of destiny. Probably, she thought, when the elemental had failed to kill her outright, and the Winchesters had turned up before she'd bled out.

She remembered seeing his face, blurrily through a half-shut eye and waves of pain, leaning above her. She'd seen his eyes, and the worry in them, dark green and fringed by long dark lashes.

Recognition had come slowly when they'd met again ten years later. It had been the worry in his eyes again that triggered it, as a memory had hit him, even as it had hit her. Her heart had frozen when she'd realised that those green eyes were the same as the ones that had haunted her dreams for years, and she'd left the bar straight away. But the path had already been set. Maybe it had always been set just that way, although she hoped not. Being pushed around by a force greater than oneself was not a reassuring thought.

God had been intervening in her life, and his, for years. She should have taken that as sign of the things to come, a warning that there was some purpose involving them. Both of them had died, and been brought back, their purpose unfulfilled obviously. She sighed. Twenty-twenty hindsight was a great thing; it would have been more useful if she'd made the damned connection a couple of years earlier.

Would that have changed anything? _It is hard to contend against one's heart's desire; for whatever it wishes to have, it buys at the cost of soul._ The quotation drifted into her mind. Who had it been who'd said that? _Heraclitus, _her mind answered._The weeping philosopher_. He had something there.

She could have walked away a few times. Walked away and never looked back. But her heart's desire had won out and now she'd put them all in peril. If she had walked away, would a child have been conceived to match the prophecy? The ritual? Maybe.

She frowned impatiently. She'd never know one way or the other. The opportunities had arisen, she'd followed them. End of story. Move onto something else.

In the inside seam of her jacket, a small slender knife rested in a narrow sheath. It would be the last answer if she couldn't figure out any other way out of this. The ritual would not be completed. That was the important thing.

He would be angry with her, she knew. Furious. He would understand the why, somewhere deep inside, but he would hate her for the decision nonetheless.

* * *

_**I-84, Wendell, Idaho**_

The pump was automatic and Dean left it to fill the tank while he went inside the store. He went to the restroom, turning on the tap over the sink and letting the cold water run over his face for a minute, soothing the gritty feeling in his eyes and waking him up a little. He glanced into the mirror above the sink briefly, seeing the hollows and shadows in his face, and turned away, unwilling to see the expression in his eyes.

The store had hot coffee and sandwiches and he got two of each, paying and walking back out to the car, the first coffee finished before he'd reached it. He unhooked the pump, got in, and pulled out of the gas station. He'd done fourteen hours straight, he couldn't afford the time to stop and sleep, even for a couple of hours, even if he could sleep. It was only another ten or so hours to Scotts Mills, and he could feel the urgency getting stronger by the mile, by the minute. The thunder of the music in the car was no longer blocking every out, his thoughts were leaking through, the wall holding back his emotions was getting thin.

He'd been ready for his own death. He wasn't ready for hers.

He kept seeing her against the darkness of the road unwinding in front of him. A thousand memories of her, stretching back over the years, flashing in and out of his mind's eye, and the harder he tried not to see them, the clearer and faster they came.

He turned up the volume a little more, but it made it worse. Too many of the songs were entwined with his memories of her now. Too many hours on the road listening to them together, too many unscheduled stops when they'd left the tape playing and made love in the backseat.

Her smile, her laugh, the long graceful curve of her throat, the way she looked when she was about to cry, or about to come, the first time he'd seen her, the last time he'd seen her, how she moved, how she felt, how she tasted, watching her fight, watching her dance, watching her frowning at some puzzling piece of information and the small crease between her brows disappearing as the answer came to her. He groaned softly, his fingers tightening involuntarily around the wheel as he tried to shut the memories out, to put them back behind the wall. He couldn't think of her now, couldn't remember her as if she was already fucking well gone.

He became aware of the engine's sound, the increase in the revs and looked down at the speedometer, lifting his foot up as he registered the speed.

Nine more hours, just fucking well hold it together, he told himself savagely. Then he'd know, then he could figure out what to do next.

* * *

The house was silent when he pulled up in front of it, turning off the engine and listening for a moment. He got out, and pulled the Colt from his pocket, thumbing off the safety without thought and moving silently up the front steps. The front door was closed but not locked, and he opened it cautiously, stepping through and looking around.

There was no sign of a struggle, nothing out of place. The remotes for the claymores were still sitting on the hall table near the front door and he looked at them for a long moment, understanding that the danger hadn't come from the outside, but from within and all his efforts to protect her had been for nothing.

He turned and began to search the house, checking the ground floor room by room. He saw Duvsha's body from the end of the southern hallway and started to run, knowing it was too late, but unable to help himself. Crouching beside her, he could feel how cold her skin was, the dead white of her flesh testifying that she'd died at least twenty four hours earlier. The server room was locked and he pulled out his set of keys, pushing in the correct one and turning it with the knob.

His eyes swept the room completely before coming back to rest on the three bodies that lay there. Frank was crumpled against one wall, Cassie and Talya lay close together on the floor near the opposite wall. He walked over to Cassie, crouching and looking at the dried blood caked around the head wound on the side of her skull. He laid his fingers against her neck, and started back violently when her eyes opened and she looked at him.

"Christ!"

"Dean?" Cassie struggled up, feeling the pounding in her head increase but uncaring of that now. She turned and touched Talya's arm. "Talya, wake up, Dean's here."

He looked over at the nephilim, seeing now the rough dressing that covered her shoulder. Talya woke, sitting up slowly as she looked at him.

"Dean, Frank – he's still alive but I don't know for how much longer. The phones in here are dead, we couldn't call for help." Cassie looked over at Frank. Dean nodded and crossed the room, setting his gun on the floor as he looked at the pressure bandage over the gunshot wound and saw Frank's chest rising and falling slowly.

He pulled out his phone and dialled 911, giving the operator the details tersely. He looked at Cassie.

"What happened?"

"Adam. It was Adam, but he was different –" Cassie started, her eyes filling with tears as she realised that it was over, that they were rescued – and her breath catching in her throat as she remembered that Ellie had been taken. For Dean and for Ellie it was not over. It was just beginning.

"One of the Princes was controlling him, Dean." Talya cut her off.

"You mean possessing him? I thought angels couldn't –"

"Not possession, just control. I don't know how but his eyes, they weren't his, something else was looking through him out."

"He took Ellie?" He managed to get the words out, the wall still holding, barely.

She nodded. "He made Cassie bind her wrists and ankles. We heard the car leave a few minutes later."

"When?"

"Yesterday morning."

He closed his eyes, his jaw tightening. He could easily have passed them. But even if he'd gotten an angel ride here, he still would have been too late to stop Adam.

"Was Twist with him?"

They looked at each other. "Adam came in alone, I don't think so," Talya said quietly.

"Alright. Talya, how's your shoulder?" He looked at her.

"Through and through. It'll be okay." She shifted her balance and got to her feet.

Dean looked at Cassie. "You got dizziness? Nausea? Any bleeding from the nose or ears?"

"No, no concussion. Just a sore head."

"The police and paramedics are coming. I need you to tell them all about Adam and how he took Ellie. Tell them that you heard say he was going to Kansas with her. Alright?" He looked from one to the other as they nodded. "That's important. Kidnapping and crossing state lines brings in the Feds. He might already be in Kansas by now, but maybe not and maybe they'll catch them before he gets there."

"Wait a minute, where are you going?" Cassie looked at him, seeing the dark shadows around his eyes, the hollows in his cheeks and temples.

"Back." He looked at her steadily.

"Dean, you need to rest for a short time at least."

He shook his head. "I'm already more than a day behind them." He looked at Talya.

"Make sure you tell the police everything, tell them he said he was going to kill her in Kansas – they have to get onto to this straight away."

She nodded.

"Stay with Frank. Stay together." He turned around and walked fast up the hall. He needed to be out of here before the authorities came up the road. He could feel exhaustion dragging at him, riddling his body. He'd have to stop somewhere and get at least a little sleep if he could. Running himself off the road wouldn't help anyone.


	46. Chapter 46 And All The Way Back

**Chapter 46**

* * *

_**I-80 Rock Springs, Wyoming**_

Seventeen hours later, Dean replaced the nozzle into the slot of the pump and walked into the store to pay.

He'd caught two hours sleep outside of Boise, and while it hadn't done much, it had stopped the buzzing in his brain so that he could concentrate on driving for a bit longer. The nightmare that had woken him had been more vivid than usual, and he washed the dried sweat from his face and neck in the restroom.

This time he'd stay on the 80 until Nebraska, going into Kansas on SR 283. There were no towns near the border where the highway crossed over, and he was hoping it would be obscure enough to avoid the press entirely. He'd already caught two news reports of a black car emerging from the smoke wall barricading Kansas, and the way it had taken off, heading north, the sighting fuelling an unreasonable amount of speculation on what was going on inside the state, from Mafia involvement to Colombian drug lords taking over to alien invasion.

He knew he was a day and a half behind them. The news reports had mentioned the kidnapping, but there had been no triumphant recording of the kidnapper being stopped anywhere. He wasn't sure if the demons would leave Adam alone. He didn't know how quickly the ritual could be enacted. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, realising he didn't know enough about any of it.

He grabbed a six pack of high caffeine sodas and another hot coffee and paid, misjudging the doorway slightly and knocking his shoulder against it on his way out. It made him straighten up and focus on what he was doing and he made it to the car without another misstep. Pulling the top on one of the sodas, he chugged half of it down and turned on the engine, glancing at the seat beside him. The Colt lay there, loaded. He'd figured that if he couldn't save her, he could at least take down the Princes before his luck ran out and he went down himself.

The road was lit up by the headlights, in the distance a set of red taillights gave him something to focus on. He shut out the exhaustion grinding at his bones, and the fear gnawing on his nerves, and put his foot down again, the black car accelerating through the darkness along the smooth, wide road.

* * *

_**Hutchinson, Kansas**_

Ellie tried to brace herself as the car seemed to repeatedly hit things, or drop into holes or bump over things. The trunk was dark again, lit only by the red of the taillights backshining in on her.

She'd been in the trunk for around twenty seven hours now, she thought, and she was becoming dehydrated. She'd frozen as they'd driven through the night, up and over the mountains and through the day the temperature in the trunk had climbed to close to unbearable as they drove under the hot sun, sweat pouring from her, making her hair sticky with salt and her eyes sting when it ran down into them. Her circulation was slowing in her limbs and hands and feet, despite her efforts to keep them moving at least part of the time, and she'd realised a while ago that her condition on arrival was of no importance at all – provided the child lived, she supposed.

The car swerved violently and she tucked her head down as she slid into the side, hitting it with her shoulders. They should be almost there, she thought desperately. It couldn't be that much further. Her sense of time and direction were good, and apart from stopping twice to fill the car with gas, Adam hadn't stopped or varied his speed at all, the steady beat of the concrete seams under the tyres telling her they'd been travelling south on the interstates primarily.

Less than an hour later, she could feel the car slowing down, and she let out a long breath of relief. When it stopped she lifted her head slightly. The smell of ash and brimstone came to her and she grimaced.

The trunk lid opened and she closed her eyes against the glare of the metallic daylight after the dimness of the trunk. She felt Adam's hands close around her arms, lifting her upward and the scrape of the trunk's rim on the back of her legs as he dragged her out. Her legs buckled as her feet touched the ground, the blood forced back into them. He caught her before she dropped, his fingers hard as they dug painfully into the muscle of her arm.

"Walk."

She turned her head, still squinting and made out the gate, a dark opening in the ground a few yards from the car. She could hear the whisper of the demons in the air around them, the shrieks from the staircase in front of her. Hoping her legs would hold her up, she took the first step down, and felt her skin dry from the rush of heat that hit her from below.

* * *

Sam looked up as the horn sounded, a clear, pure note that seemed to hang in the air. He looked back at Tricia.

"Time to go."

She nodded reluctantly, watching him pick up the spear, unwinding its wrappings and leaving them on the cot. He looked back at her for a moment then ducked out of the doorway of the tent.

He walked down the field, his boots leaving puffs of grey dust and ash rising behind him. Baraquiel came up beside him on his left, and a moment later, Sariel was walking on his right. He looked at them, the corner of his mouth lifting in a questioning half-smile.

"Michael has assigned us to you, to ensure that you can do the job you came for." Baraquiel inclined his head slightly.

"I thought the Spear protected the bearer?" Sam said lightly.

Sariel smiled. "It does. It will. Michael is just making sure."

_Making sure of what?_ Sam wondered uneasily. _That I don't disappear with the Spear?_

They walked down to the edge of the protected zone, standing and waiting as angels and Watchers and nephilim came from all sides, forming ranks, their weapons drawn, their radiance far outshining the dim, flat daylight. Michael saw them and walked across, gesturing.

"You will be behind the first ranks. The Princes have returned and we can no longer see far into the gate, but the chamber is only a single level below."

Sam nodded, tightening his grip on the slim wooden shaft of the spear. When they'd first arrived there had been maybe a few hundred angels. He looked around now and saw the numbers had swelled, the ranks stretching out behind him to the left and right further than he could see, hundreds upon hundreds of them, their massed effulgence too bright to look at.

A single horn note sounded again, this time in a different key and the restless movement ceased.

"Is that Gabriel's Horn?" he whispered to Baraquiel. The Watcher nodded.

"Who's playing it?"

"Iophiel. He was given the Horn on Gabriel's death."

Michael's voice rang out across the company, the power of it setting up an ache in Sam's teeth, that strange vibration of an angel's voice that could, unmodulated, kill any living creature on the earth.

"The Princes have returned and it is time to put an end to the abomination of their existence, my brothers."

The sword he lifted suddenly into the air was coruscant in white flame, and Sam stared at it helplessly, memories crowding in at him at the sight. He struggled to clamp down on them, feeling them bleeding into his will, sapping the strength of the part of him that remained him. He would not go in there like a berserker, at the command of someone else, he thought tightly.

"CHRISTEOS MICALOZ RAASI ORS!"

Sam shut his eyes tightly, covering his face with his arm as well as the Host's light flared into a ferociously glaring corona, lighting up the field and the surrounding area. He could feel the argentine light piercing him somehow and the spear in his hand was ringing like a struck crystal with the vibrations of it. The Watchers closed up to up on either side, shielding him with their bodies from the angels' massed response to their leader.

"Was that Enochian? What did he say?" Sam gasped, as the light faded and they began to march.

Baraquiel looked at him, nodding. "Basically, let us bring light into darkness."

* * *

_**Shawnee, Kansas**_

The long convoy of black four wheel drives, led by the limousine, pulled over a few miles into the shifting, coiling smoke, and all the occupants got out of the vehicles, looking around the blackened and deserted street.

"I thought they were attacking anyone who entered?" Ryan complained.

"Apparently not," Roman replied caustically, listening. After a moment he waved and they returned to the cars, pulling out and heading further west.

When the demons descended, less than a mile further along the road, Roman's mouth extended in a wide smile, and kept extending as he got out of the limo. He reached out and snatched the barely visible hellspawn from the air and bit down deeply, crunching through the wings and limbs with relish.

The company of leviathans scrambled out of the cars to grab their own, and the demons were devoured in minutes, their shrieking cut short as long teeth bit through throats and chests, their limbs were torn from their bodies, and the remains that fell to the ground were grimly visible.

"That's more like it." Susan wiped her mouth delicately.

"They don't taste as good as people."

"They're not people." Roman stared. "From here, we're splitting up. One car to each road, try and take in as much ground as possible. Susan, Ryan, we'll take the gate. No survivors, remember. Get going, it's a big state."

* * *

_**SR 283, Wakeeney, Kansas**_

Dean made the turn onto the I-70 slowly, then saw the signs for Hutchinson and started to speed up again. The drive had been an endless nightmare of highway, gas stations, coffee, little food, exhaustion and fear, and for a while, somewhere in Nebraska he thought, he'd been convinced that it was going to go on and on, that he'd never actually reach the town.

He chugged the last can of soda and rubbed his eyes as he drove east, focussing on the road, dragging his thoughts back to the incipient problems of finding the gate, getting inside, finding Ellie.

He slowed again when the light appeared, slightly south and east of him, a pillar of white against the dull, leaden sky, too bright to look at directly. It took a few moments to register what he was looking at – the Host of Heaven, gathered together and ready to march on Hell, then he put his foot down and the car sped up, knowing that he could follow them in if he could get there in time.

He heard the car before he saw it, a black four wheel drive hurtling toward him, the engine revs screaming as the wagon bounced over the broken concrete and off the guard rail that divided the two sides of the road, back into his lane. His fingers closed tightly around the wheel as it came on, the grill growing larger, and he could feel his muscles contracting as he braced to meet it or swing the car wide. Then it swerved left to the lane next to him and he caught a second's glimpse of a monstrous mouth, filled with teeth, as the two vehicles passed each other.

_Leviathan? Here?_ He watched the car in the rearview mirror as it dwindled into the distance, still swerving and bouncing all over the road. _Was that a hallucination?_

The light had faded and he shook off the speculation, speeding up and trying to remember where the really fucked up bits of road had been on the way to the angels' encampment.

* * *

_**First Level, Hell**_

Ellie stumbled down the last steps and looked up as her feet touched the smoothly polished floor of a wide and long hall. Incongruously, after the rough cut stone staircase and tunnel they'd just come down, the room had been carved from the original cavern with unearthly craftsmanship, the walls smooth and polished like the floor, columns rising gracefully to a very high carved and vaulted ceiling, the flickering torch light gleaming on the mirror-smooth surfaces of the black stone.

"Move." Adam pushed her again, and she shuffled forward, walking between two of the columns. To her right she could see a raised dais, with a stone table on it. The table was of the same black basalt as the hall, but it had been hacked roughly into shape, the only smooth surface on it was the top. She turned her eyes away from it, knowing what it was, what it was used for.

"Eleanor."

Meg walked slowly toward them from the darkness of a doorway to the left, her face and body pouched and grey and ulcerated now as the effort of holding the devil inside took its toll on the vessel. She looked … corroded, Ellie thought, a sacrificial anode to the more powerful metal inside of her.

"I knew there was a reason I didn't kill you when I had the chance." The demon's voice was modulated and deepened by the angel inside of her. "Come."

Adam pushed her again and she followed Meg deeper into the room. As she stepped beyond the next set of columns, she saw Castiel. The angel had been suspended by his arms from chains set into two of the columns, his feet barely reaching the ground, his weight resting entirely on the splayed shoulder joints. His head hung against his shoulder, and she could see the livid cuts and gashes and bruising over his bare chest and stomach. Around his neck something had been welded, a collar of some sort. She narrowed her eyes as she tried to make out the details of it, but he was too far away. A binding collar for angels? As she passed by, she caught his movement in her peripheral vision, the slight rise of his head, the dark blue eyes opening.

Meg walked to a low chest, set against the polished wall. When she turned back she had another collar in her hand, similar to the one that Cas had been wearing.

"I don't think we'll risk seeing if you have the powers of your ancestors, Eleanor. Amaros was one of the most powerful angels of the Eighth before he fell; some thought he was more powerful than Michael, at least at one time."

She watched the demon approach her, and felt Adam take a handful of her hair from behind, yanking her head back to expose her throat. The collar was cool but not cold, the metal very heavy. Lead, she thought, wondering why that metal had been chosen. The demon touched it where the two halves joined and the soft metal sealed together with faint puff of acrid smoke. She closed her eyes tiredly, she'd need a hacksaw to get it off now.

"Were there others, like me?" she asked, swallowing against the press of the collar.

"No." Lucifer nodded to Adam and her hair was released, allowing her to lower her head. "I thought there'd be at least two or three, but there was only you."

Adam cut the wire from her wrists and ankles and Ellie tried to move her hand discreetly to her jacket, her eyes widening fractionally when she couldn't. Lucifer saw the tiny expression and laughed, reaching for her jacket and pulling the slim stiletto blade from the seam.

"Sorry. As amusing as it would be to have you in Hell at my disposal, we just can't allow early departures today." He threw the knife across the hall and turned back to her. "The collar gives me the power over your central nervous system. It controls your muscles, your tendons and all those connections that make movement possible."

He watched her face, smiling slightly as he saw her absorb the implications.

"Well, there's a lot to do, and the Princes don't like to be kept waiting so let's get started." He nodded at Adam and she saw the flash of a blade in the corner of her eye, her mind screaming at her to move, to turn, her muscles locked in paralysis. She felt the cold touch of the knife along her skin as he sliced through the seams of her clothing, letting the pieces fall around her.

"Walk to the table, Eleanor." Lucifer smiled at her, and she felt her foot lift, move forward and set down, controlled by the angel, completely against her own will. She walked slowly across the room, her bare feet slapping softly on the polished floor, and climbed the wide, shallow steps to the dais, stopping precisely next to the middle of the table. She could see that the top was stained, in some parts crusted over with dried fluids whose origins she did not want to think about.

"Get up onto the table, Eleanor and lie down."

She put her hands behind her, feeling for the edge, and lifted herself up, swinging her legs up and easing herself back down so that she lay on her back in the centre of the table. She was naked and trapped within a body that was beyond her control, and her vulnerability to everything made panic press against her mental walls. _There must be a way to fight this_, she thought, as her will, trained for years in self-discipline, held down the fear, damped out her desperation. _Think. Think of a way to get free._

"Very good." Lucifer came to the edge of the table and looked down at her, impatient greed filling the sagging, bloody eyeballs. "That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

He looked over his shoulder at Adam. "Bleed the angel."

Adam nodded and turned away, walking to the low chest and taking a large silver bowl from it, then to the angel between the pillars.

Inside her unresponsive body, Ellie flinched as she heard Cas' scream of pain. She couldn't see what Adam had done. She didn't want to see. She turned her mind back to her own problem. If the collar was acting on the nervous system, how could she short-circuit it?

Adam returned to the table several moments later, the bowl filled with blood. He set it beside Lucifer on the table, and the angel dipped his fingers into it, and began to draw the Enochian sigils for the ritual over her body. The blood was warm against her skin and her flesh crawled at the touch of the demon's fingers on her, each dragged impression filling her with a greater fear that she wouldn't be able to stop this, that she wouldn't be able to do anything at all.

"The collar also prevents me from being drawn into you, at the critical moment, you see," he said conversationally to her as he completed more and more of the circles, over her breastbone and breasts, her ribcage and stomach, around the curves of her hips and thighs and down the lengths of her arms and legs. The reek of the blood filled the air around her. "The child's mind has no defences to trap me, nor power to hold me out, unlike yours, I daresay."

He finished the design and dipped his fingers into the almost emptied bowl once more, his finger moving to her lips, smearing the blood over them, and pushing through them to leave some on her tongue. Her mind gagged, her body could not.

"Once I've taken over the child's mind, we can cut it out. Then with the first taste of your blood, I will finally be bonded to its soul. And after that … well, you should consider yourself lucky that you'll be dead and won't have worry about it."

He put the bowl under the table, and leaned on the edge of the table, looking down into her face. "Pretty simple, considering the enormous affront to the natural order. The real trick has always been getting all the parts of the puzzle together at the one time. Poor old Krivejko never realised that it would work. He was a thousand years too early when he tried."

He shook his head admiringly and straightened, looking over her to a doorway in the wall opposite the table.

"Here they come." He glanced down at her again. "And we're all ready. Don't look so worried, it'll be over soon."

She could already feel the coldness approaching, the pulling sensation of the Princes as they drained the energy from her, each step closer increasing the sensation. She felt her eyes closing as fatigue fell on her.

"The Host is attacking. Is everything ready?" The arch-demon Pythius looked at Lucifer, invisible within the black hooded robe he wore.

"Yes."

"_Begin._" The sepulchral whisper to her left could only be the oldest, Baal, Ellie thought wearily, unable to hold onto the thought.

Her body was still but her mind shrieked out suddenly as the bony fingers curled around her wrist, the cold penetrating through the layers of her body, through skin and fat, muscle and sinew and bone, to her core. Pythius stood at the foot of the table, and she could feel another arch-demon behind her, at the head. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, and panic broke through.

* * *

_**Hell, Gateway**_

Sam watched in amazement as the demons fell back before him, before the spear held in his hand. Baraquiel and Sariel, to his left and right, were slashing at the horde with their swords, moving alongside him as he strode through the fighting.

"Where is Lucifer?" he yelled at Baraquiel, who pointed to the staircase to one side of the first cavern.

"Not far, we have to hurry. They could have started it already."

As he spoke, Sam felt a vibration in his skull and he looked at Baraquiel. The Watcher's eyes widened as the vibration increased.

"SAM!" Michael's cry reached them over the noise of the battle. They turned and looked at the archangel, as his sword sliced through a dozen demons and he gestured to them.

"They've started! Move!"

Sam ran through the demons to Michael's side, swinging the spear to either side and clearing a path for all of them as the demons leapt back out of the way of the slender lance. One was not quite fast enough, and its foot was brushed by the iron shaft as Sam moved it. It dropped dead instantly, turning to smoke then ash on the floor.

The vibration was strengthening, and he could almost hear it as a sound now, far down in the lowest registers. He felt a trickle of liquid down his neck, and touched his fingers to it, looking at the blood on them in disbelief. Another trickle slid down from his nostril over his lip. _Great_, he thought, _my brain is fucking well melting_. He pushed the thought away and ran ahead of Michael, taking the stairs down to the next level in twos and threes. _Let's just get it over with._

The archangel and Watchers followed him, and in the battle behind them, the angels surrounded the nephilim, who were also beginning to bleed from the eyes, nose and ears as the Princes' chanting increased again in volume.

Sam skidded on the smooth floor when he hit the hall, his gaze sweeping around the room, then locking onto Meg. He raised the spear and ran for the demon, wiping the blood from his eyes and leaving a thin spatter of drops behind him on the black stone.

* * *

The arch-demons didn't turn or pause in the incantation, and Ellie could feel her blood trickling down her cheeks, over her mouth and down the side of her neck. She couldn't hear anything except the deep buzzing vibration of their chanting, her mind clamouring at her to do something, her body frozen and immobile. She could see Lucifer's eyes widening and his fingers gripped her arm suddenly, red fire flashing in the demon's eyes and lighting up the blood vessels in her face as he tried to begin the transfer.

_No, no!_ Ellie screamed inside her head, the deadness of the fallen's power shunted away as fear and fury broke through.

The sweep of a flaming sword above her was met with a ringing clang by a heavy black metal blade as Michael attacked Baal. The arch-demon blocked the thrust and parried the fire-wreathed blade aside without releasing the grip he had on her wrist, but Michael's next attack couldn't be met one-handed.

Lucifer had also released her, backing down the table as Sam came into her peripheral vision, holding the spear. She struggled against the hold of the collar furiously as Pythius and Asmodeus moved to the sides of the table, hands curling around her wrists and continuing the infrasonic incantation.

Deep inside her body, she could feel the spell seeping through the sigils and circles, disrupting the flow of blood and oxygen and nutrients to her child. It awoke a new determination in her, and she fought to get deeper inside herself, to fight back somehow.

* * *

In the cavern above, Amaros turned suddenly, feeling a drain on his power. More demons were coming up from the lower levels and he swung around to face them, stumbling as he felt another hit on his strength. Beside him, Araquiel gripped his elbow, hauling him to his feet.

"What is it?"

"I don't know – something's drawing on me, on my _potentiis angelus_."

* * *

Ellie felt a strange source of energy flowing through her; she didn't stop to question it, just fed it to the effort of keeping her body functioning for the child inside of her, to her struggle against the power of the ritual, forcing the spell back along the channels it was using to invade her body.

* * *

Sam advanced on Lucifer, seeing the crackle of fire in Meg's eyes and under her skin. Dean had said that it had to be through the heart, first and only time. He pressed her back off the dais and down the steps, the demon's gaze swinging from side as Lucifer looked for an escape route. Sam's longer stride kept him backing, as he looked for the opening that would let him do it accurately.

* * *

Michael had pushed Baal back between the columns and circled him, his face lit and edged in the white light of the flames of his sword. He could not rush the arch-demon; of all the Princes, he was the oldest, powerful and dangerous. Baal had been his brother's chief supporter, the one who'd incited the proud and beautiful Lightbringer to disobey, to rebel against Heaven and his Father. Even then, he should have known that Lucifer's temper would turn on him if they failed. Michael had heard that arch-demon's torture had been the longest. He looked into the blackness of the hooded cloak, feeling the evil that resided there, the cold mental touch of the mind that had been twisted through millennia of agony into an entirely different entity, and he prayed to his Father and to Heaven for strength.

* * *

Dean saw the Cutlass sitting in the middle of the field, and a group of black cars converging into a loose circle around it. He hit the brakes. The three chunky vehicles and the long limousine stopped, and he watched, eyebrows lifting in astonishment, as the doors were shoved open and leviathans leapt from the vehicles, their suit coats flapping as they ran together and disappeared down the hole in the ground.

He turned the wheel, the Impala bumping off the road and onto the grass and drove slowly toward the cars, stopping a short distance from them. Shutting off the engine, he grabbed the Colt from the seat beside him and got out.

At the edge of the hole, he looked down, seeing the pulsing red light he knew from past experience. The cries and shrieks and screams coming from the earth grated against his ears as he started down, Ruby's knife in one hand, the Colt in the other.

* * *

"What the-?" Amaros stared at the monsters that had joined the battle, their form changing from human as they hit the floor of the first cavern, mouths opening and covering the skulls which elongated as the bodies grew larger, clothing and skin disappearing under mottled black and green hides. They snatched at the demons, devouring them whole, one after another, running them down against the stone walls, chasing them through the narrow tunnels that led from the chamber, leaping to catch them as the demons wheeled and spiralled in the air above them.

"Reinforcements?" Araquiel looked around bemusedly.

"Timely, but not all that friendly looking." Amaros doubled over as he felt the pull against his power again.

Araquiel looked down at him. "It has to be the woman, Amaros. Your descendent."

"How's she doing it?" Amaros lifted his head, panting slightly. "With no consent, no spell?"

"Your consent is in her body, in her blood, I think." Araquiel looked at the stairs to the lower caverns. "She must be doing it instinctively, her emotions controlling it maybe."

* * *

"Araquiel!" Dean staggered down the stairs, relieved to see someone familiar. Ruby's knife swung out and cut through the throat of a demon that leapt for him from the side of the tunnel, plunging into the chest of another that almost collided with him as he reached the floor.

The Watchers turned to him together.

"Lucifer – the ritual – where?" He ran for them, ducking and rolling as a demon launched itself at him.

Araquiel swung his sword and decapitated the demon as it turned and tried to fasten onto the man.

"Down the stairs. Michael and your brother are already down there."

Amaros rose unsteadily, leaning on his sword as more power was tapped from him, and followed them slowly.

"You invite the leviathans?" Dean flicked a glance back over his shoulder as he followed the Watcher down the uneven rock steps.

"No. Is that what they are?" Araquiel threw an explosion of light ahead of them, flooding the stairs and the immediate area beyond.

They hit the smooth floor of the cavern, slowing slightly as they took in the situations confronting them.


	47. Chapter 47 Battles of Heroes

**Chapter 47**

* * *

Dean scanned the room fast, noting and ignoring Michael in his battle with the archdemon, his brother pushing at Meg with the Spear of Destiny on the other side of the room, and stopping when he saw the table, and Ellie lying on it. The exhaustion that had clung to him for the last four days fell away and he was moving before he realised, long strides that ate up the distance, the Colt's grip already in his hand, the barrel rising as he got closer, its sight centred over the back of the fallen angel closest to him.

He was still moving as his finger squeezed the trigger gently and the retort of the gun echoed fiercely around the smooth walls of the hall. The Prince stood for a second, then burst into flames, a twisting column of white and blue and gold light flooding out of the black cloak and hood and shooting up to the distant ceiling. The second arch-demon's head snapped around as Dean pulled back on the hammer, and the cylinder moved around. He took the shallow broad steps up to the dais in a single stride, the barrel's sight lowering onto the black-robed Fallen.

Asmodeus dropped the woman's wrist and ducked under the table, scrabbling for the other end and the protection of the columns that framed the dais. Dean watched him go, kicking aside the pile of ash and fragments of black cloth that was all that remained of Pythius, as he slowed down, his gaze locked onto his wife.

She was lying still and naked on the tabletop and he couldn't tell if she was still alive or if she was dead. Covered in blood, her pale, creamy skin barely showed between the swirls and sigils, the designs making his head ache as he looked at it. He couldn't see her throat, a thick dull metal collar fitted tightly around it; he couldn't see any movement at all.

"Ellie?" He looked down at her, his heart caught somewhere in his throat. Her eyes were open, fixed and glazing over, and he reached out hesitantly, afraid to touch her, afraid that he would feel her flesh cold and he would have to accept that she was dead and everything that he was living for was gone.

His fingertips brushed her shoulder, skating unevenly into the hollow beneath it, and he sagged against the edge of the table, the relief at the warmth he could feel taking the strength from his legs.

* * *

As they came around another pair of columns, Michael saw Castiel, hanging from the chains. He glimpsed Sam pushing his brother's demon vessel back toward them, and took his attention from Baal for a second, the angelic sword swinging wide and high, cutting through the chains that held the imprisoned angel.

The black blade pierced his side, driving through but not quite reaching his heart. The pain was enormous, shocking, and he stumbled away from it, his breath searing his throat. From the corner of his eye he saw the arch-demon approaching again, heard the faintest whisper of the Fallen's laughter deep within the hood. That laugh burned him. He thrust the pain and shock away, regaining his balance and turning fast, his sword swinging up, thrusting into the black robes and through the rib cage, the tip emerging flaming from the demon's throat. The hood and robes exploded with white light as Baal convulsed within, and the skeletal remains of his body fell to the floor, the black blade falling with it and shattering as it struck the stone.

Michael pressed his hand against the wound, aware of the poison seeping through him, feeling it eat at his power, at the strength he'd taken for granted for thousands of years. He fell to his knees, leaning on the hilt of his sword, forcing himself to stillness. At first, his voice seemed weak, and he doubted he could reach Heaven, then slowly it became stronger as Heaven heard him, catching him and holding him as he felt for the power of the souls.

* * *

As the chains parted with Michael's blow, Castiel dropped to the floor, unable to break his fall, his arms in agony. He rolled to one side and lay there for a moment, reaching for Heaven without thought, his faith faltering as he realised that the collar around his neck prevented him from being able to draw on that power. He looked around slowly, seeing Dean at the table, bent over the still figure that lay on its surface; seeing Michael on his knees, the empty black robes of the arch-demon beside him; seeing Sam, holding a slender spear and driving Meg slowly but steadily in his direction.

He recognised the spear immediately. He'd been in Jerusalem when the son of God had been murdered. His orders had been to observe only. The event had shaken his faith in his Father and in humankind at the time, although he'd since recognised the strategy of it. And he remembered the Roman soldier who had driven the point of his spear into Christ's side. He'd met the wanderer four hundred years later, body and soul rent by that one unthinking action, unable to rest, unable to stop.

He rolled onto his knees, his breath hissing out as he tried to lift his arms. This was pain, as humans knew it. The excruciating torment of muscle and tendon strained too far, torn and shredded. He looked up and saw that Sam and Meg were closer to him, the devil too worried about the spear to look around for other dangers.

Closing his eyes he put a hand on the floor, and clenched his jaw against the bolt that seemed to explode inside of him as he shifted his weight to the arm and lifted his foot. The pain didn't diminish when he shifted it back, and he felt a monstrous wave of it roll through his body as he got his other foot under himself and rose, his vision narrowing down to a pinpoint as his vessel attempted to let him know of all its injuries.

Lucifer's gaze was fixed on the head of the spear, and Sam's was on the devil. Neither saw the angel staggering toward them, moving purely under will power. Castiel reached up and grabbed Meg's arms, the effort forcing a scream from him as he pulled the demon back toward him. Sam lunged forward, the broken tip of the spear sliding effortlessly between the ribs next to the breast bone, puncturing the heart and lodging inside its chambers.

The red fire in Meg's eyes glittered and pulsed violently through the blood vessels of her body for a moment, then became silver-white, filling her and spilling out through her eyes and nostrils, through her wide-open mouth. Sam let go of the spear when both the iron and wooden shafts crumbled to dust in his hands, his eyes widening as the anger he'd always lived with disappeared with the last of the fading light.

* * *

Dean cleaned the sigils and symbols from Ellie's skin, unaware that he was talking, his voice barely a murmur as he told her to stay with him, told her that he wouldn't let her leave. His head was bowed over her, his fingers gentle as he compulsively tried to get every last drop off, not knowing what was wrong with her, not knowing what to do.

Behind him, Amaros and Araquiel climbed the dais steps and walked to the table, looking down at her. Araquiel drew his knife, and Dean's head snapped around, the Colt drawn and pointed at the Watcher, his thumb cocking the hammer, his finger tight on the trigger. His face was expressionless as he stared at the Watcher, but there was no mistaking the look in his eyes.

Araquiel stilled, keeping his hands in view and looking at the man in front of him steadily. "The collar is holding her in thrall, Dean. I'm just going to remove it."

Dean's gaze dropped down to the dull metal collar that lay around her neck. He nodded once but kept the gun levelled on the Watcher, his finger curled loosely around the trigger. Araquiel found the thin welded joins and broke them free, lifting her shoulders as Amaros removed it and threw it to the floor, the redhaired Watcher wiping his fingers on his cloak, as if the collar had soiled them.

Ellie blinked rapidly, her chest heaving suddenly as she filled it with air.

"Ellie?" Dean set the gun down on the edge of the table and bent over her, and the Watchers withdrew to the other side of the table.

She closed her eyes, relief that she could finally do so by herself flooding through her.

"Ellie." His voice was more insistent, less afraid now as he watched the small, normal movements.

She opened her eyes and turned her head. He was leaning over her, and her mouth curved slightly as his eyes met hers. She lifted her arm, and felt for his hand, feeling his fingers lace with hers as she lifted it and pressed his knuckles against her lips. Her throat felt dry, her body still felt as if it wasn't hers to control, her nerves numb and her muscles heavy.

Dean put his arm around her shoulders, lifting her until she was sitting up next to him. He lifted her hand, resting her fingertips against his lips, his cheek against her temple. For a long time, neither of them moved. They had both blocked out their emotions to the events they'd endured. Now that it was over, they could let those reactions out, feeling the fear and the grief, the torment and the terror pass through them and dissipate harmlessly. They knew that they wouldn't speak of this again, not of the fear, or the desperation, not even of the relief that they felt in each other's survival. It had been too close.

Dean pulled in a long, deep breath, and straightened up. "Let's not do this again."

Ellie nodded tiredly, clearing her throat as she matched his tone. "Let's not."

He looked around for something to wrap her in, and Araquiel removed his cloak and handed it across the table.

Amaros was watching her and Ellie looked up to meet his eyes.

"You have a lot of power, distant daughter."

She raised an eyebrow at him, glancing back at Dean.

"You drew off my power while you were held by the collar. That takes a lot of power." Amaros elaborated slightly.

Ellie shook her head. She'd never felt so completely helpless in her life. There had been no power in her. "I was paralysed, I couldn't do anything."

"Oh, you did though." Araquiel looked at her, smiling slightly. "It might come back to you later. If you have questions, Castiel will know how to find us."

Amaros inclined his head slightly and the two Watchers walked around the table and down from the dais.

"What was that all about?" Ellie asked Dean softly, watching them go. He shook his head.

"I don't know." He tucked the end of the cloak around her feet, not caring about cryptic Watcher comments. He just wanted to get out of here, and take her somewhere safe. Safer, he amended. "Wanna blow this popsicle stand?"

"Yes, please."

He slid his arm under her knees and around her shoulders and lifted her from the table, walking carefully down the wide steps of the dais. He stopped, half-turning as Sam and Castiel walked up to them from the other end of the hall.

"You alright, Cas?" Dean looked at the angel.

"I need painkillers." Cas raised his head to look at them, his expression grim. "I'm sorry, Ellie."

She shook her head. "No one knew, Cas. Not until it was too late."

"Where's the spear?" Dean asked Sam.

"It crumbled to dust when it went into Meg's heart." Sam remembered the odd feel when it had happened, as if the spear had been struck by something. "What does that mean?"

"I think it means we don't need it anymore," Ellie said. "This line of destiny has finished."

Behind them, there was a shout, and they turned to watch as Araquiel pinned the last archdemon against the wall.

"I thought there were six?" Ellie looked at Asmodeus as Michael approached him.

"The other three were fighting in the cavern above us, when we came through," Sam said. "At least one of them died in the first attack, I saw Michael kill it before we turned to come down here."

"Yeah, I saw another one get taken by four angels when I came through the gate. And that reminds me, there were leviathans in the cavern up there. Eating demons." Dean looked at Sam.

Sam looked back at him, his expression nonplussed. "Okay."

Ellie nodded. "Garth overheard Roman talking about joining forces with Heaven in Memphis. Dick didn't want his food supply reduced by the demons."

Dean and Sam exchanged surprised looks. "And Heaven's okay with that?"

"I don't know." She leaned her head against Dean's shoulder, feeling her eyelids drooping with exhaustion. "I guess that's up to Michael."

Castiel watched as the arch-demon knelt before Michael. "Looks like Hell will go on."

"Why doesn't he kill that sonofabitch?" Dean's brows drew together.

"Because Hell needs a leader. And Asmodeus will swear to Michael to run it under Heaven's command – for a while." Castiel's mouth twisted slightly as he turned away.

From the shadows between the columns, Amaros walked to Michael, Adam's body in his arms. The archangel looked down at the man and shook his head.

"That sonofabitch!" Sam strode over to them, pointing to Adam and saying something to the archangel. Michael shook his head again.

"You broke him! You fix him!" Sam's furious shout was clearly audible, echoing around the room. He said something else to Michael in a lower tone.

The archangel nodded to Amaros who laid the man on the floor. Michael knelt beside Adam and laid his hand over his forehead. The light emanating from the archangel's hand was soft, almost silver. It spread from Adam's head to his toes, wrapping around his body and enclosing him for several minutes, then withdrew slowly back up to Michael's hand.

Sam knelt beside his half-brother, his hand on Adam's shoulder. Adam stirred, rolling onto his side, then sitting up, his hand pressing against his head.

"Cas, what happened to him?" Ellie watched as Sam helped Adam to his feet, both turning to walk slowly toward them.

"I don't know. Not really. It's possible Michael might have left some kind of … suggestions … in Adam's mind." He looked at Dean neutrally. "Or that Adam perceived a hole in himself when Michael left him. A hole that could be filled by another's control."

Dean scowled at him. "That standard procedure for you guys? Fuck up the vessel after you go?"

Castiel shook his head. "No."

Ellie's attention suddenly went inward. "Oh."

Dean turned his head to look at her. "Oh … what?"

"It's time to go; I think that was a contraction."

"What?" He looked around, for somewhere she could lie comfortably. She looked at him, the small line appearing between her brows as she realised what he was doing.

"Dean, I am not having our baby in Hell." She looked at him. "Let's go, first-time labour's always take hours."

"Right." He turned his head. "Sam, Adam, we're leaving."

Castiel looked at them. "I'm not really strong yet, but I could probably –"

"No," Dean and Ellie said together.

Dean started to climb the stairs, Castiel walking behind them, Sam, supporting Adam, coming after.

* * *

They came up the stairs into the upper cavern, and looked around. There were no demons in sight. A few hundred of the angels and nephilim were sitting or standing around, talking quietly or healing themselves, waiting for further orders.

As Dean began to cross the cavern to the stairway that led out, Dick Roman emerged from the shadows on one side of the cavern and walked slowly toward them. The leviathan had returned to his human form, but the suit he'd been wearing was filthy, torn and covered in slowly drying dark liquids.

"You boys really get around." He looked from one to the other, his eyebrow rising speculatively as he saw Castiel in the midst of them.

"What are you doing here, Dick?"

"Having lunch." Roman smiled, picking his teeth with a finely gnawed bone.

"Right." He felt Sam and Cas move closer on either side of him.

"Just about room for dessert too." He took a step closer to them, and Dean saw several other leviathans coming out from the shadowed walls, moving toward them.

"Leviathan."

Roman's gaze moved past Dean to meet Michael's as the archangel came up the stairs behind them.

"Seraphim."

"You've been very useful." Michael's hand rested on the hilt of his sword, the gesture unmistakable.

"Well, we do try to be good neighbours."

"Aside from a tendency to eat the pets," Ellie murmured softly against Dean's neck.

Roman's hearing was good and he laughed. "Yes, aside from that."

"But the crisis is averted and you can go back to the hole from whence you came. Now."

"And if we don't choose to follow that path at this particular time?" Roman looked at the archangel, his tone light but his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

The angels rose together, almost like a flock of birds, Ellie thought as she watched them. They spread around the group of leviathans, at first only a few, then more and more as they came from across the cavern, from the tunnels leading into it, until the ring surrounding them was fifty deep.

"God put you into Purgatory once, I'm sure He won't have any trouble doing so again." Michael reminded Roman mildly.

"But he hasn't, has he?" Roman's gaze moved around the ring of angels surrounding him, then returned to the archangel. "Why is that, do you suppose?"

"Perhaps He's been busy."

"Or perhaps destiny indicates that it's time for the sixth extinction and we were meant to escape, meant to rule." The leviathan stared at Dean.

Michael shrugged. "Perhaps. But it will not start today. And it will not begin with these humans."

Roman heard the implacable warning deepen the archangel's voice. He looked back to Dean. "I wouldn't count on a Get Out of Jail Free card coming along too often."

The corner of Dean's mouth lifted. "I never do."

He turned away and walked up the stairs leading to the ground, carrying Ellie, Castiel, Sam and Adam following him.

Already the smoke was dissipating and patches of blue sky were visible overhead, the forces that had held the pall in place destroyed. The air smelled slightly cleaner. Dean lifted Ellie into the back seat of the Impala, climbing in beside her, while Sam, Adam and Castiel got in the front. Sam drove up to the angel's encampment, and Tricia followed him out of their tent, she and Adam getting into the blue Camaro and following him as they headed south.

* * *

_**I-35 S**_

"How much longer, Sam?" Dean looked to the front seat, Ellie's fingers tightened crushingly around his hand as another contraction gripped her. He'd known she was strong, just hadn't realised exactly how strong.

"About half an hour, I think." Sam hunched over the wheel, staring ahead down the road. Castiel turned to look into the back seat, where Ellie was sitting with Dean beside her, sweat soaking her hair and skin, the contractions coming every two minutes and lasting for thirty seconds.

"I thought you said that labour takes hours for a first-time mother." He looked at Dean.

"Not for everyone," Dean snapped back at him as Ellie's fingers tightened again.

"Sam, these are coming really fast, we might need to find somewhere to stop."

"I can't –"

Ellie's deep groan came through clenched teeth, as she felt the baby coming. "Stop the freaking car, Sam, he's coming right now."

Sam saw a breakdown lane ahead of them, accelerating through the light traffic to get to it and slowing down as they eased off the throughway. Behind him, Tricia followed, pulling up and getting out. She ran to the back door of the Impala, looking at Dean's face, then down at Ellie.

"Dean, turn her around, she needs to lean back against you, about a forty five degree angle." She crouched half-in, half-out of the car, helping to turn Ellie so that she lay along the seat, her back resting against Dean's chest. "Sam, in my pack there a couple of clean towels, can you get them?"

She turned her head to look at Castiel. "If you can do anything about the pain, now would be the time to do it."

Cas looked from her to Dean uncertainly. He reached out and took Ellie's hand, flinching back as he felt the deep, powerful contractions that were forcing the baby into the birth canal. He didn't release her, but his eyes closed tightly.

Sam brought the towels and Tricia spread one over the seat, and under Ellie, shaking her head when he tried to pass her the second one. "That's to wrap the baby in."

"Okay, Ellie, he's coming. Shallow breaths, pant, you need to be ready to push with the next contraction."

Ellie nodded, her eyes bright but her attention focussed inwardly as she felt the baby's movement through her pelvis. She looked up at Tricia then closed her eyes. Dean watched the contractions ripple under the taut skin of her stomach, almost continuously now, and saw Castiel's face scrunch into a grimace as he felt it too, the angel trying to take the painful sensations into himself.

"He's crowning, Ellie. You can do this, push hard now."

Dean heard her ragged indrawn breath, and looked down at Tricia's face, her eyes wide as she watched the head emerge. Castiel's garbled cry as the baby's head came all the way out made all three of them turn to look at him. He shook his head, unable to explain, his breathing heavy.

"Shoulders coming out, push, Ellie, we're nearly there." Tricia held her hand out to Sam for the second towel, and opened it as the shoulders angled and slipped free and the rest of the baby followed quickly. Tricia wrapped the towel around his body, leaving the umbilical cord free.

"Clamps and a scalpel?"

"What?" Sam looked at her, then at Dean.

"We'll need to cut the cord. Get the first aid kit from the Camaro, Sam."

He turned and ran back to the other car, popping the trunk and grabbing the kit. _Couldn't have asked for this when he went to get the towels?_ He thought somewhat incoherently.

"When the cord stops pulsing, you're going to put one clamp about three inches from the baby, put the other about two inches from that and cut between them." She looked at Dean steadily. "All right?"

He looked down at the bluish thick cord that ran from his son back into Ellie, and nodded, his expression a mix of uneasiness and doubt. Behind Tricia, Sam busied himself with the first aid kit, hoping he wouldn't be roped in to cut anything. Tricia looked down at the baby in her arms, and then focussed on the cord.

It took almost ten minutes before the blood supply had dwindled to her satisfaction. She turned her head and looked at Sam.

"Clamps, pass them to Dean."

Sam pulled out a pair of sterilised packs holding clamps and passed them to his brother who took them reluctantly, opening the first pack and pulling out the clamp.

"Alright, Dean. Clamp it." Tricia looked at the cord. Dean manoeuvred the first clamp gingerly over the thick cord and closed it, then opened the other pack and positioned the second clamp, closing it tightly.

"Sam, scalpel."

Sam knelt on the concrete beside her and passed her a wrapped sterilised scalpel, taking it back and opening the pack when she looked at him patiently, then handing it to her.

Tricia handed Dean the scalpel and he tentatively cut at the cord, having to apply more pressure as he felt how tough the sinew was. He was surprised by how little blood emerged.

"We just have to wait a while for the placenta to come out, it shouldn't take long, the blood supply stops once it's detached."

The two men and the angel found something else to look at immediately.

Ellie snorted softly, her head rolled slightly one side and eyes half-closed. She looked over at Castiel and smiled slightly, his expression was an odd combination of tightly repressed pain and astonishment.

"You can let go now, Cas," she said softly, wriggling her fingers. "And thank you." He looked at her and released her hand, and she felt the deep ache of the stretched skin in her own nerves. No wonder he'd looked anguished, she thought.

"How does the human race continue when birth feels like that?" Castiel looked at Ellie. She smiled and shook her head. Dean looked at the angel, then down at Ellie. He'd ask later, he thought.

Tricia passed the wrapped baby to Ellie, feeling Sam move up beside her as Ellie smiled down at the child. Dean looked over her shoulder into his son's face, his eyes wide.

* * *

_**Blackwell, Oklahoma**_

The doctor listened to her heart for a moment, and nodded, straightening up and removing the stethoscope from her skin and his ears.

"All looks good. You're both in good health. Not surprising, you're young, and, uh, remarkably fit."

Ellie and Dean glanced at each other and gave the doctor a matched pair of innocent looks.

He looked at Dean. "Those stitches will need to come out in a week."

"Sure, doc."

The doctor handed the chart to the nurse as she came in, and walked out.

"Okay, then. This will be the registered hospital for your son's birth, can't really put the interstate down, although it does happen more frequently than you think."

She filled in a few fields on the form and looked up at them again. "Last name?"

"Winchester." Dean watched her filling in the form, feeling his exhaustion getting heavier and heavier, his eyelids drooping.

"Address?"

"Uh, 19991 Paradise Road, Scotts Mills, Oregon." He glanced at Ellie, a brow raised. She lifted a shoulder in a shrug and nodded.

"You are a long way from home!" The nurse looked up at him in surprise.

"Yeah."

"Married?"

"Yep." He resisted the impulse to show her the rings. He wondered drowsily how long it took to get used to answering that question in the affirmative without feeling like they were the only two people in the world to have done it.

"Maiden name?"

"Morgan," Ellie answered quickly, seeing Dean's eyelids dropping again.

"And the baby's name?"

Ellie looked at Dean, eyebrow raised. His eyes widened again, the corner of his mouth lifted in a one-sided smile as he looked at her.

"John Robert."

"That's lovely." She noted it down on the form. "And your, uh health insurance?"

Dean pulled the card from his wallet and handed it to her, watching her leave the room. He waited until the door had closed before shifting from the side of the bed to the chair beside it. Crossing his arms and leaning his chin on them, he looked into Ellie's eyes at her level.

"I was thinking …"

"Mmmm-hmmm?"

"Do we have to go back to Oregon?"

"I thought you liked Oregon?"

"I do." He hesitated for a moment. "But if we go back there, we'll be working straight away, and we haven't had a break for a long time."

"You mean … like a honeymoon?" she said, her tone gently mocking.

He snorted. "Dammit, take me seriously, woman."

"I am." She smiled at him. "All right. You want to maybe … retire … for a bit?"

"Yeah, for a bit."

"Where do you want to go?" She looked at him curiously. They'd discussed a more permanent place from time to time, both unable to imagine travelling with a newborn baby, but had never gotten as far as an actual location.

"Which state has the least amount of monsters, ghosts and angel/demon activity?"

"I don't know." She thought for a moment. "Well, obviously not Minnesota."

"Hell no. Or Wisconsin." He looked at her. "I don't think South Dakota or Wyoming qualify either."

"Uh-uh, both have gates. What about Maine?"

"No, had some pretty nasty experiences in Maine." He shook his head. "Louisiana?"

"Lot of ghosts in Louisiana." She remembered a few hard hunts there.

"Yeah. And vampires."

"True." The Garden District seemed to be a favourite haunt of older vampires and they'd both run into them there.

"Uh … the Carolinas?"

"North or South?"

"Either?"

"North." She looked into the crib beside the bed, at their son sleeping soundly. "It'll be nice to smell the sea again."

"Okay then?"

"Yes. We could drive over in a couple of days, and see the real estate agents."

"How long are they letting you have this bed?" He looked around the room.

"Overnight. Just to be sure that we're both okay." She looked at him, seeing the dark hollows under his eyes, the weariness that was crashing down on him. "Take your boots off."

He grinned at her. "You sure?"

"Yeah, plenty of room for two here." She watched him pull off his boots and walk around the bed, climbing in behind her, settling himself against her back. "How's that?"

"Better." He sighed softly against her hair, eyes closed, sliding one arm under the pillow, the other curving over her waist. "Love …"

Ellie heard his breathing change to the steady rhythm of sleep, and she smiled peacefully, closing her eyes and drifting off in seconds.


	48. Chapter 48 A Time for Peace

**Chapter 48**

* * *

_**Last Chance, North Carolina. 1 year later.**_

Set in between the marshes of Wysocking Bay and the shallow waters of Lake Mattamuskeet, the two-storey frame and weatherboard house perched on a slight rise, catching the breezes from both bodies of water, and providing far reaching views over the Sound. The narrow road leading to the house was bounded by pastures and crops of the farms that filled the area, and at night, the sky was filled with a million stars.

Castiel stood beside the window of the large living room, warmed by a driftwood fire, looking out at the storm-tossed waves in the Sound, the sky louring and chill in the aftermath of the powerful Atlantic storm that had passed through overnight.

"I don't understand, Dean. The leviathans have disappeared – yet you, neither of you, seem at all worried?"

Dean picked up a couple more pieces of wood and put them on the fire, glancing at Ellie. She gave him a one-sided smile, and shrugged, holding John's hands as he toddled the few steps toward her.

"Cas, I don't think you need to worry about it so much."

The angel turned around and looked with fresh disbelief at both of them. "They are planning on turning humans into …into … their own private herd, and you don't think I should be worried?"

"It's just that it's been taken care of." Dean settled himself on the floor opposite Ellie and steadied his son as John attempted to make a one hundred and eighty degree turn.

"Taken care of – how?"

"Cas, sit down. Relax. Play with your godson." Ellie looked up at him. "It really is okay."

Castiel shook his head. "How long are you two going to stay here?"

They looked at each other over John's head.

"For a while," Ellie said, suppressing a smile.

"Till we're ready to go back to work," Dean added with a shrug.

"When will that be?" Castiel looked from Dean to Ellie in exasperation.

"In a while." Dean grinned at Ellie.

"When we're ready to go back to work," Ellie agreed.

Castiel stared at them in frustration for a long moment and then disappeared, the fire flaring slightly with the disturbance of the air, and John's eyes widening at the sound of fluttering wings.

"He really needs to lighten up." Dean stretched out along the floor, head resting on one hand, the other ready to catch John if he started to wobble as he made his way slowly and unsteadily between his father and mother.

"I think Michael made him some kind of special attaché to humankind. He's taking it very seriously."

"Da!" John stared imperiously into his father's face, from a distance of six inches.

"What?" He levered himself upright and picked the boy up, tucking him into the crook of his arm and tickling him gently along the ribs. The delighted gurgle and shriek made them both laugh.

"Nap time." Ellie got up. "Do you want to take him up?"

"Yeah, it won't take long; he's making his tired face already." He turned for the stairs, deep voice rumbling softly as he told his son it was definitely time for bed.

Ellie walked to the window, watching the sky and sea get darker. By tomorrow, it would all be clear again, but the wind would stay for a day or two longer. Then they'd have some quiet sunny days, and another storm would come blustering and blowing over from the east.

The place had been good for them, peaceful and quiet, the locals friendly but about as sociable as they were, which was to say not very sociable at all. Figuring out all the pitfalls and worries of first-time parents had been easier here, no one to comment or judge or offer well-meaning suggestions. Just the two of them dealing with it together.

She stretched upward, letting out her breath in a long, leisurely exhale. She'd been waiting for signs from Dean that he was getting restless, that worry about the state of his brother, or the world, would start to eat at him, and he'd be driven into returning to Oregon, to get moving on the problems they knew existed. But he was peaceful and relaxed, his wounds healing up to fine white lines, sleeping easily every night and show every indication that he was contented and happy with their insular life.

She listened to the soft footfalls of his feet on the stairs, crossing the room behind her. His arms slid under hers and he wrapped them around her, resting his chin on her shoulder as the last remnants of daylight faded from the land and sea in front of them.

"We probably should have told him."

She smiled. "He's an angel, he'll figure it out."

He snorted against her neck. "You know, you have a real mean streak."

"You finally noticed?"

"Sam called earlier, he and Trish are headed out here next week. They're going to drop Cassie off in Charlotte on the way." He straightened up slightly. "He also said that Dwight and Twist picked up a lot of data from the geological survey team you asked them to check. They'll send it over tonight."

She tilted her head to one side. "Has Frank been through it?"

"Didn't say. I would guess so, since everything is being routed through him for security."

"How's Trish doing?" Her mouth quirked up at the corner. "Still rhapsodising?"

He laughed softly. "Nope, not anymore. Sam said she's huge, and her back aches."

"Well, she's carrying two." She turned in the circle of his arms, looking up at him.

"Yeah, Sam sounded pretty nervous."

She smiled widely, the brilliant smile that lit up her eyes and face and that he looked for and relished whenever it appeared.

"You hungry?" The smile faded away as she looked into his eyes and saw his expression.

"Yeah." He bent his head and kissed her.

Ellie felt a familiar languid heat rising through her as the kiss deepened. Their first few times after the birth and moving here had been wild and desperate, lightning and thunder, and being unable to let each other go. Partly, she thought, because they'd come so close to losing each other. Partly, because they were facing a new life, one that didn't follow the old rules, and they could both feel the fear of having much more to lose now. Gradually, over the last few months, those fears had dissipated. Maybe not dissipated, she thought, but they'd become accustomed to them.

She felt his fingers moving over her clothes, stripping them from her, as her own unbuttoned and undid his. The feel of his skin under her hands brought a delicate charge to her nervous system, and she opened her eyes to look at him, her breath catching as he touched her, his fingers sliding through the swollen, wet folds to push into her, his thumb rubbing insistently and sending shockwaves through her.

She arched back as his lips trailed down her throat, shuddering with the sensations he was causing, her breath coming fast and shallow, heart racing until she could only cling to him, and his mouth covered hers again as she came.

He picked up her up easily and walked to the long couch in front of the fire, laying her on it, stretching out beside her, his eyes fluttering shut and a low groan escaping him as her hands and mouth moved over him, seeking out the places that she knew intimately, touching him the way he liked to be touched, the caresses that ignited him, until he was throbbing and his half-open eyes were mutely pleading. She slid off him and pulled him onto her, watching his face as he pushed in, his eyes rolling back slightly as her tight, velvet heat engulfed him, and they both sighed deeply with the first deep thrust. Seeing his arousal, his pleasure, never failed to intensify her own and she could feel that need, that deep-seated itch that presaged her climax, building and growing inside of her with every stroke.

Dean looked down at her face as he felt the beginnings of her tightening, the faint tremors that would become the fast hard ripples that inevitably tipped him over. Right now, he could still focus enough to see her lost in the wash of pleasure that was building, her eyes dark, the pupils huge, her lips parted as she said his name softly, like a caress. He moved faster, getting lost himself, and wanting nothing more than to stay lost here with her, the two of them fitting together so perfectly that he couldn't feel any division between them.

She arched against him abruptly, driving him deeper into her, the muscles surrounding him beating a fast staccato rhythm along him, and he let go, riding the wave with her, drowning happily in the sensations they were sharing.

Later, they curled against each other, their skin still warm and hearts beating at a normal pace again. He kissed her brow, pulling her closer.

"Did I tell you today that I love you?" he asked her quietly. She shook her head slightly.

"No, not today."

"I do." He looked down at her. "Love you."

"I love you." He could feel the lift of her cheek against his as she smiled.

* * *

_**CNBC News**_

"_The financial market suffered another blow today, as stocks of the highly successful Richard Roman Enterprises fell dramatically for the fourth week in a row, in response to the disappearance of the businessman and almost thirty of his senior staff."_

"_Four weeks ago, concerns for the businessman were raised after what appeared to be the residue from several chemical bombs were found on the executive level at the head office of the company, based in Chicago, Illinois. Police and the FBI believe that the black toxic material found may be related to the terrorist bombings of last year, when ten of Roman's affiliated and subsidiary company premises were targeted."_

"_Since then, more chemical residue has been found at several more of the company's offices across the country, and authorities remain baffled concerning the nature of the substances, as no explosives or bomb casing materials have been found. The continued absence of Dick Roman is being regarded as highly suspicious and the police and FBI now hold little hope for Roman to be found alive."_

"_The stocks took their first dive on the day of Roman's disappearance, with many in the business world believing that Roman was the driving force behind the business and without him, the company cannot continue its meteoric rise. Since then, they've fallen several more times with their current value a fraction of the original price. Several investors sold short just before the fall, and many more are wishing they had."_


	49. Chapter 49 Getting Back Into It

**Chapter 49**

* * *

_I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.  
~ Anais Nin_

* * *

_**The Willamette, Oregon**_

Dean looked out over the peaceful valley, watching the morning mists dissolve and fade with the sun's rising in the east. It was a good place, he thought, leaning on the railing, taking a sip of the steaming black coffee he held, a relatively safe place for them.

The house sat on a few acres of flat and gently sloping ground, at the end of the gravel road. It looked ordinary, a cream and grey-green two-and-a-half story with a sharply pitched roof and wrap-around porch.

It wasn't ordinary.

The steel frame was reinforced by sigils and traps, wards and guards over every entry point. Surrounding the garden, they'd laid iron track in a circle and within that, buried in the soil, were lines of reflection and what Ellie called the _zona magnetica_, an interlocked series of buried objects, very old, and according to Tamsin, shrieking with psychic residue. The rings of protection were powerful enough to prevent the entry of any psychic thoughtform, ghost, elemental or spirit and the iron and steel kept demon incursions at the boundary.

The road was a hunter's enclave, their world within the world. The next door house, two hundred yards down, was Baraquiel and Talya's. Beyond them, Sam and Tricia and the twins had a big house on the same side. On the other side, higher up the slope, Twist had his A-frame cabin, with Frank taking up an eighth of an acre behind him, and further down toward town, Garth and Tamsin, Bezaliel, Chazaquiel, Dwight and Katherine and the nephilim who'd stayed. The dead-end neighbourhood had been built by a single firm, all the houses going up at the same time. Every house was steel framed and now, they were as well-protected as the one he stood in.

It wasn't white-picket. Conversations in the neighbourhood ranged from weapons training to the reworking of Samuel Campbell's cures for the poison of djinn and the turning of a vampire, and sometimes Dean thought that if his mother had not been so against the hunting life, he and Sam might have grown up in a place like this, with their family and their cousins, learning the hunting life in a less terrifying and scarring way than they'd had with their father.

"Daddy?"

He turned around, smiling at his son who stood in the doorway to the house. At four, the little boy was a stocky powerhouse of energy, his hair platinum blonde and always in need of a cut, his eyes green, some shade between his father's deep-green, and his mother's jade-green, wide and fringed with long lashes, a few shades darker than his hair.

"Hey kiddo."

He set his cup on the railing and crouched slightly, holding his arms out. John shot out of the doorway and across the boards and launched himself at his father, one raised knee taking Dean just left of his diaphragm and driving most of the air from his lungs.

"Ooff." He straightened unsteadily, one arm locked around his son, the other groping for the railing behind him as he struggled to drag in a breath. "You're gonna kill me one of these days."

John laughed at the thought, green-blue eyes with long lashes staring into Dean's. "No way."

"Mom ready to go?"

"She said five minutes." John's expression became serious. "Why can't I come too?"

"I thought you wanted to spend a few days with Marc?" Dean prevaricated, one brow raised.

"I do, but I want to come with you and Mom too."

"Next time, maybe." Dean lowered the boy to the floor and picked up his cup, gesturing to the door. "Besides you have to look after your sister."

He saw John's face, nose wrinkled up at the thought. "Dad, she's a baby. Aunty Trish can look after her."

He raced inside, small feet inordinately loud on the smooth bare boards. Dean followed slowly, finishing his coffee, his gaze automatically scanning the walls and windows and doorways, registering that all the protections he and Ellie had put into place were still there, undisturbed. He couldn't help that constant awareness; it had been drilled into him since he'd been the same age as his son was now. Know your surroundings, know the exits and the weaknesses and know that every line of protection is strong and intact. He'd noticed that John had already started to copy him, the wide-eyed stare flashing around a room on entry, even though he might not know what he was checking for just yet.

It was still a dilemma for him. On the one hand, he wanted them to be safe, to be trained, to be able to protect themselves. On the other, he wanted them to have at least the choice of becoming hunters or going for a normal life. It was a fine line. Ellie had chosen the little town so that they would be able to have that choice, big enough for schooling and normal pastimes, small enough that they could see enemies coming with ease. How it all turned out … well, he'd have to wait and see.

* * *

Dean watched Ellie fiddling with the side mirror as they pulled out of Sam's driveway, watching the diminishing figures of his brother and Trish, and the four children.

"Thought that once we were on a job, you focussed on the job," he remarked, with a slight smile. She ignored him until they'd turned down onto the road and the little group had disappeared from view.

"We're not on a job, yet," she replied, readjusting the mirror so that he could see the road again.

"They'll be fine, you know they will."

"I know." She closed her eyes, leaning back against the seat. "I'm okay."

Dean glanced at her and grinned. "We can turn around and go back?"

She opened her eyes and turned to look at him. "No. It's time we got back into it. You're getting all irritable with all this training and no hunting."

"I'm getting irritable? Me?" His brows shot up, eyes widening. "Who was it who threw a whole pot of spaghetti across the damned kitchen the other night?"

"It slipped."

He snorted. "Right."

She compressed her lips, hiding her answering smile. "How did Twist pick up the nest, anyway?"

He glanced at her, glad to see the lines of tension in her shoulders had disappeared. "He said that Frank's been passing along stuff from some kind of search on weird deaths." He looked down at the file on the seat between them. "It's all in there."

Ellie picked up the thick file and opened it, tucking her feet up against the glove box as she started to read. Dean watched the road, listening to the music that poured softly from the speakers, listening to the small noises she made as she read, huffs of disbelief, an occasional harshly drawn breath, the crackle of the pages as she turned them.

"Monterey?" She looked up as she closed the file. "That's upmarket."

He nodded. "Not limited to the coast, they're covering about a hundred square miles of territory between highways 1 and 101."

"Did you pack the –?"

"Yep." He nodded, watching the traffic ahead as he turned onto the interstate.

"What about the –?"

"That too." He frowned suddenly. "I didn't get the herbs."

"I packed them last night. We'll need to find a self-contained cabin to stay in, though, one with a fireplace."

He nodded slowly. "This is going to take a few days anyway."

Ellie pulled out her phone, and started looking for accommodation in the area.

* * *

_**Carmel, California**_

"There it is." Ellie pointed to the small house at the end of the street.

Dean pulled into the narrow driveway, looking at the side of the house lit up by the Impala's headlights. Night had fallen an hour ago, and beyond the house was darkness, unbroken by a single light anywhere.

"Is that the sea?"

Ellie nodded. "Last place left. Costing a fortune because it's right on the cliff, but it's only a couple of miles to Monterey up the coast, and we should be inconspicuous here." She tucked the files and their guns into her backpack and opened the door, sliding out.

Dean turned off the lights and got out, going to the trunk to get the gear bag as Ellie hooked their duffles from the back seat. Practically a vacation, he thought.

Outside, the scent of the ocean was obvious, a heavy, briny scent that reminded him of Last Chance. The two years they'd spent in North Carolina had been a unique experience for him, and for Ellie, he thought. Just them. No outside influences or obligations. Learning to raise their son together. Learning about each other. He pulled the bag out and closed the trunk lid, locking it and stashing the keys in his pocket. Healing.

He turned to look at the featureless blackness beyond the house again. Nothing could wipe out the past. But, as his wife had told him once a long time ago, it was in dealing with things that the mind healed itself. And they'd dealt with nearly everything over those years.

He shifted his grip on the bag, the familiar weight and muffled clunks from inside it comforting, and followed Ellie into the house, closing and locking the door behind him as she walked ahead, turning on the lights.

The short hall opened into a small but comfortable living area, with a dining table at one end. The curtains on the big window at the end of the room were open, the window reflecting the interior like a black mirror. He put the bag down and went to close them, glancing at the fireplace as he passed it. It was big enough for what they needed, and beside it a basket of half-logs had been placed ready.

Ellie came out of the bedroom, carrying the bag of supplies they'd bought on their way into town. She put the cold stores into the fridge and looked over the stove, rummaging through the cupboards for pans and a pot. Three years of cooking had pretty much removed the habit of grabbing fast food, and she set out the ingredients automatically, finding a long knife in the drawer and beginning to chop them up. At the end of the counter, the silk bag of herbs was beginning to infuse the air with their smells. She glanced at it and put down the knife. There were three varieties of trillium in the bag, each with their own strong scent, and the combination would probably drive them out of the house if she left it out in the open. She took the bag to the back door, and set it down just outside. _Should keep the local wildlife well away_, she thought, nose wrinkling as the carrion odour of the _Foetidissimum_ wafted up to her.

As she came back in, she saw that Dean was kindling the fire. They could burn them after dinner and pack the ashes into the car in the morning. It was a precaution against the vampires getting a good fix of their scents, in the unlikely event that they were so out of practice that one of the monsters got away.

As she prepared the food, she thought about the last few months. They'd left Last Chance reluctantly, when she'd found she was pregnant with Rosie. The place had been a sanctuary; a much-needed respite from the hunting life, but even peace can get too much when life has been lived at maximum velocity for so long. She'd been more ready to leave than Dean had, she thought, although he hadn't argued about it. The last two years since moving back to Oregon, another baby, finding the place and preparing it as well as they could, spending time with their friends and family again, had had the façade of a dream, almost. It hadn't been boring and they'd kept up their training, but she'd started to feel an odd sense of incompleteness, as if a part of her had gone missing in the interim. When she'd raised it with Dean, she'd seen the same feeling in him, tempered by a more prosaic concern of leaving their children in someone else's care. But Sam and Trish were just as competent as they were, their house as well-protected, and it was time to go back to what they were best at.

"What time do you want to head out?" Dean turned away from the bright flames of the fire and walked to the fridge, getting a beer out and leaning against the island bench to look at her.

"How are you feeling after the drive?" Ellie asked, thinking it through, the first night's recce.

"Good." He swallowed a mouthful.

"What do you think of a stroll around the town just after midnight then?" She looked up at him. "Maybe visit some of the local dives?"

Dean nodded. "If the vamps are still following the Alpha's orders, then yeah, we can probably pick up a trail." He set his bottle on the counter. "Not the dives, though. Town like this we should check out the clubs."

She heard a faint edge in his voice and looked up. "What?"

He looked at the bottle, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "Nothing. Just … last time I did this, it was with Sam."

She tipped a little olive oil into the pan, setting it on the stove. "PD from the memory, Dean?"

He shook his head. "No. All worked out okay."

"Eventually." She raised an eyebrow at him. Psychological domination, the shrinks called it. Memories that were so powerful they could freeze up even the most well-trained soldier. It was no joke. "I can call Garth."

The mix of indignation and disbelief that filled his face made her laugh. She turned back and tipped the vegetables into the hot oil. "Come here and stir these while I get the rest ready."

He walked around the bench, hooking an arm around her waist as he passed her, drawing her close. "Don't think that I'm going to just forget that."

She smiled. "Stir the veggies."

* * *

They ate in front of the fire fifteen minutes later, washing the food down with plain water. Dean laid the long darts, each containing 10cc of dead man's blood, along the two tranquiliser guns on the counter as Ellie cleaned up. When she tossed the bag of herbs onto the fire, the smell drove them from the living room into the bedroom.

In the dimness of the small room, Dean pulled off his boots, sitting on the bed. He looked up at Ellie.

"You want to get some sleep? We've got a couple of hours to wait."

"That would be a good idea," she glanced sideways at him, knowing that sleeping was not necessarily what was on his mind.

He smiled and lay back, one armed tucked under his head as he watched her. "Well, it's early, you know."

"Did you set the alarm?" She walked around the bed and sat down, pulling off her boots.

"Yeah." He rolled onto his side. "Come here."

She lay back and rolled to face him, her breath catching in her throat as his hand slid up under her shirt, and his mouth brushed over the sensitive skin of her neck.

He leaned back slightly, eyes half-closed as he watched her breath quicken under the insistent movement of his fingers. "Now, would you rather have Garth here? Or me?"

* * *

At five minutes to midnight, Ellie woke. She stretched out against the warmth of the man lying beside her. Now this, this felt like old times, she thought contentedly.

Dean stirred, reaching out to silence the alarm before it went off. He felt around the nightstand for the lamp switch, and turned it on, closing his eyes against the brightness of it.

"Why are we doing this again?" he grumbled, rolling away from the light and running his hand up Ellie's back.

"Because it's what we do," she reminded him, leaning on her elbow and kissing him lightly. "Come on, still got the fun part to get through."

They dressed quickly, in dark clothes this time, and Ellie tossed him a small bottle.

"What's this?" He opened it and sniffed cautiously, turning his head away from the bracingly offensive smell of the cheap aftershave.

"Little camouflage." She squirted a mist of a strong perfume onto her neck and wrists, her face screwing up as the smell enveloped her.

Heading into the living room, Dean gagged slightly as the lingering smells of the burned herbs hit him, pungent even over the aftershave. They wouldn't need the ashes tonight. If they saw the vamps, it would be an observation exercise only. They needed to find the nest, not alert the local bloodsuckers that hunters were in town. He yawned again and stretched, taking the cup of coffee that Ellie handed him. He felt ready, he thought.

* * *

Two minutes later, the Impala's engine started up with the usual throaty rumble and he retraced the route back to Monterey. The small parking lot in the middle of town was highly visible and easy to get to from any of the side streets that held the bars and clubs they'd be cruising, and he parked precisely opposite the exit.

Saturday night and all the clubs were jumping, locations easy to discern with the neon signs and muffled music coming from them. Most of them were centred around Alvarado Street and Cannery Row, and they stopped at the first. _Ava's_, the pink neon sign above them announced.

Dean went in first, Ellie giving him five minutes then following, the black and white and pink film noir styling indicating that the name referred to Ava Gardner, although Ellie thought the actress wouldn't have been seen dead there. She wound her way to the opposite side of the room when she saw Dean head to the bar. In the garishly coloured light it was hard to judge people's skin tones or the colour of their eyes, and Ellie realised that the Alpha's plans for building an army had been well thought out. Men and women, of all ages, were gyrating to the music, leaning close together over the miniscule square tables, parading from one side of the long room to the other, and it was impossible to see if any had the polished-looking skin of a vampire, or the vivid, too-bright eyes. Everyone she looked at was made up to the hilt, the men as well as the women wearing thick eye makeup, foundation, lipstick. Vampire's paradise, she thought bemusedly, stepping aside as a tall, thin man, with heavy kohl lining his eyes and long black hair hanging down his back, staggered towards her.

* * *

Dean took a seat at the bar, watching the clientele in the mirror that backed it. The bartender came over and he ordered a beer, his gaze scanning along the room slowly. He saw Ellie pass under a flickering white light, picking her out by the colour of her hair in the intermittent flashes, then losing her again as she strolled beyond it into an area of blue and red strobes.

The music was loud, but not painful. Even so, he remembered clearly how loud everything had been when he'd been turned, and he started looking for the involuntarily flinches in the people massed around him, for the narrowed eyes that might indicate senses that were being overloaded by the light and sound.

When Ellie finished her circuit and came to sit next to him, there were only two possibilities he'd noticed, and one of them was a reach. The other one … his instincts told him they had a winner, but he wasn't a hundred percent sure about it. Maybe ninety eight percent.

"Anything?" He looked at her reflection in the mirror.

"One. And a maybe," Ellie said quietly, looking down at her purse.

"Table behind the cage?" Dean asked. "And the booth beside the rear exit for the maybe?"

"Yep."

"You get a good look at them?" He nodded to the bartender as she brought him another beer.

"Better." The bartender gave her a questioning look. "White wine, please."

"Better?" Dean turned slightly toward her when the bartender had gone, watching her face in the mirror.

"Got one of Frank's little tracers on him." She pulled out her phone and hit a couple of buttons. The screen cleared and showed a pair of small red dots blinking against a street map. "Got one on the maybe as well. He sort of fell onto me on his way back to the booth."

Dean rubbed his hand over his face, hiding the smile. "Ready to go?"

She nodded. "Definitely."

* * *

They worked their way through three more clubs, finding the same difficulties in picking out the targets but locating at least two other possibles amidst the press of drunken late-night clubbers, people who didn't look quite drunk, whose awareness seemed a little more predatory than the usual sexual hunger.

The last bar had been a surprise. Dean had picked it, his instincts prickling and Ellie had looked up at the black-on-black painted sign, barely able to make out the name. _Mort Noir_. Quiet, very dark and filled with softly-spoken men and women, universally dressed in black and the very dark jewel colours, in velvets and silks, it seemed more like an actor's green room than a bar. They hadn't split up, taking seats together at the polished ebony bar and ordering whiskies, ostensibly a couple having their nightcaps before heading home.

"Nothing reflective in here," Dean murmured softly to her, and she nodded, wondering how she could possibly get close enough to anyone here to transfer the tiny tracer to them. After a few minutes of sipping her drink, she got up, and headed for the restrooms.

The lighting inside was a very soft gold, adding warmth and colour to her pale skin. She thought it would hide the tones of a vampire's skin just as well. She was alone in the small room, and she moved around it swiftly, checking the stalls, her gaze covering over every inch thoroughly. No graffiti. No cigarette butts. No needles or matches or lipstick-blotted serviettes. Linen hand towels hanging from a rail rather than the paper towels. The surface of the sinks was spotless, and, she looked at the narrow stretch of tinted mirror over the line of sinks, very little in the way of reflective surfaces. Very civilised for a bar.

She turned back to the sink as she heard the outer door open, leaning close to the mirror and wiping at her eye as if she were correcting a smeared line of makeup. The woman who walked in was tall and willowy, the long black dress cobwebby fine with panels of lace over the silk sheath underneath, platinum blonde hair swinging down her back, an arresting foil for dark eyes and brows in the pale face. Ellie watched her obliquely through the mirror, feeling her nerves crackle, her muscles tense. There was no doubt in her mind that she was looking at a predator.

The toilet flushed and Ellie looked down into her purse, lifting the tracer dot from the adhesive sheet with her fingertip as she pulled out a lipstick. The woman came to stand beside her, pushing the fine long hair back from her face as she looked into the mirror.

"_Vous avez de très beaux cheveux_." She glanced sideways at Ellie.

"_Merci_." Ellie capped the lipstick, and put it back in her purse, then swayed slightly, her shoulder bumping the woman's, the tips of her fingers resting against the woman's hip as she closed her eyes. "_Je suis désolé, pardonnez-moi, s'il vous plaît_."

"Are you not well?" The woman asked, her voice utterly devoid of concern. Ellie leaned on the edge of the sink, taking a deep breath.

"Too much to drink tonight." She looked at the woman's face in the mirror, forcing a rueful smile. "I'll be fine."

She turned around slowly, and walked to the door, focussing her concentration on her memories of being plastered, not on the fear that was thrumming through her nerve ends as she turned the knob. She could feel the woman's eyes on her the whole way.

"We have to get out of here, now," she murmured against Dean's ear when she reached him. He looked at her and got up, throwing a couple of bills onto the bar and following her out.

"What happened?"

"Definite vampire in the restroom," Ellie staggered slightly as she walked away from the bar, straightening up only when she was sure she was out of view of the place.

"You tag her?" He lengthened his stride as she sped up.

"Yeah, but she might have made me." She looked turned the next corner, heading for the parking lot where they'd left the car. "I don't know."

Dean heard the worry in her voice and felt a trace of fear thread its way up his spine. If Ellie was worried, that was a good reason to get out of Dodge as soon as possible.

They got into the car, and he started the engine, driving out and turning down the street. "Scenic route? Just in case?"

Ellie nodded, pulling out her phone and looking at the multiple red dots now flashing over the grid layout of the street map. She'd tagged five possibles. The woman was a certainty. If none of them shed their clothes before going home, or if they went home and not to a victim's place, they should have an idea of where the nest was located.

In the confined space of the car interior, the reek of the cheap perfume and aftershave they'd daubed themselves earlier started to make Dean's eyes sting. He wound down the window and glanced across at the woman beside him, brows drawing together slightly as he noticed her blank stare through the windshield.

"Ellie? You alright?"

"Hmm? Yeah." She looked at him. "Just reaction. I think that one in the last bar was old." She thought of the place uneasily. "And I think that bar is their territory, their meeting place."

"The nest?"

"No. Too exposed to be safe in daylight. But definitely their after-hours hangout."

He looked down at the phone held loosely in her lap. "Getting any correlations with that?"

"Not yet." She rubbed her forehead with the inside of her wrist tiredly. "We'll watch it when we get back to the house."

He nodded, weaving through the dark streets in a roundabout route to take them back to Carmel. Probably didn't make much difference to the vamps, but you never knew.

* * *

"I need a shower," Ellie said as they came into the house. "This perfume is making me sick."

"Yeah, ditto." He locked the front door, and followed her into the bathroom, stripping off his clothes and leaving them in a pile on the floor next to hers. The water pressure was good, the water hot, and the sight and feel of her smooth, wet body dissolved the tension in his, desire overriding everything else as she responded to his touch.

Four years, two kids and he still got a hard-on just looking at her, still felt the aching flush of heat and escalating pleasure from groin to extremities as he watched her face, the electrifying shock when he slid inside of her, a high-voltage frisson along his nerves that kept building with each deep stroke, muscles twitching under the sensation, heart racing, breath hard to find, and his thoughts disappearing until he could only feel.

She clung to him, her teeth grazing over his shoulder as her body started to shake, and he arched back and up, her legs wrapped around his hips, driving her against the slick tiles, the water spraying over them. The aftershocks lasted a long time, and they stayed, locked together, under the soothing splash of the hot shower until their bodies were still again.

"So much for saving water." Ellie tipped her head back, the water sluicing down her hair, over her breasts and stomach. Dean smiled, tasting the drops as he kissed her.

"We'll save water tomorrow."

"Doubtful." She turned off the shower and reached past him for the towel. "Unless you want to smell like something dead."

He remembered the ashes and shrugged, snagging his own towel.

He no longer questioned if he'd paid enough to have this, or if he deserved it. It was his, and that was all that mattered. Every morning, when he came to consciousness, she was there, warm and welcoming, her eyes filled with her feelings for him. And every night, when he closed his eyes to sleep, her body was fitted against his, and he could sleep without fear, without nightmares or dread, knowing that he'd found his place, the place where he fit, where he belonged.

He knew Sam felt the same way, the challenges of being a partner and fatherhood delighting his younger brother in a way he hadn't guessed at. Whatever had happened when Sam had driven the Spear of Destiny through Lucifer's heart, the effects had been more profound than just killing the devil. Sam had told him that the anger, that repressed black rage he'd always seemed to have carried around with him, had gone in that moment. He'd felt a burning along his veins and arteries, and the old craving, the old addiction, wasn't just dormant … he thought it was gone, for good.

_So_, he thought sourly, _why would you want to start hunting again and putting the woman you can't live without at risk?_

She'd told him once that she liked who she was, hunting. That it gave her life a meaning and a purpose that she might not otherwise have found. He'd known what she meant, although at the time he'd denied that in himself. Time had proved otherwise to him. She'd also told him, a long while later, that because they could do the job, they had a responsibility to see that it got done. That too had resonated in him. Since Crowley's vendetta against the alphas, and Eve's meddling on this plane, the numbers of monsters had increased. When Lucifer had raised Death and forced him to enact the signs of the coming apocalypse, that too had stirred the spirit world, unsettling ghosts that might have been remained quiescent. There was more work around for them than he'd ever seen, and there were fewer hunters.

He got dressed slowly, just jeans and a t-shirt in the warm house, and walked out to the living room. Ellie sat on the couch, a large-scale map of this section of the coast spread out in front of her on the low table, the cell with its flashing dots next to it. Her hair was loose, combed out and drying fast, bright against the warm neutral colours of the room. His breath caught in his throat for a second, a surge of feelings tightening his chest as his imagination gave him a flash sneak peek at what his life might look like if anything happened to her, then he forced it down and away, dragging in a breath past the constriction. _Not going to happen_, he told himself firmly, _never going to happen_.

Ellie looked up at him, and he must have had some remnant of the fear on his face because her eyes narrowed immediately. He smiled, giving a small one-shouldered shrug and turned away, going to the fridge for a beer.

When he came back to the couch and sat next to her, the emotions had gone, and he focussed on the pencil-drawn circles on the map.

"We got a match?"

She nodded. "Two places. The bar. And here," she tapped the end of the pencil on the circle on the map, perhaps five miles out of town off the 68, heading toward Salinas. "Two met at the bar. Then they went here. And two more came out of town and went there as well."

He raised his brows, looking at the spot. "Remote. Not far from any of the towns where they've hit. Looks like a winner."

"Mmm." She stared at the dwindling flames in the fireplace, the pencil end tapping restlessly against the paper.

"What?"

"Have we got the number of victims and the number of missing persons in that file?" She looked around the room.

He got up and walked to the bedroom, pulling the file from his duffle and opening it as he sat down again.

"Six vics, drained." He flipped through the police reports and photographs. "Frank logged fifteen missing persons from the police database in the wider area, all in the last ten months."

"What about before that?" She leaned back, closing her eyes.

"None. Before the latest ones, there was one case in '71, but it was some housewife who ran off with a visiting reporter." He looked at her.

"How was the cell in Limestone operating?"

"Vamps recruited young guys, sent them out to find angsty chicks, brought them back and turned them. All the vamps drank bagged blood, no victims." He thought of the cages, along each side of the massive hall, filled with young women. _Eventually these girls will go out, and they'll fetch me boys like you, and around and around we go ..._

"So, these vamps are not operating according to their Master's will." She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Six victims in the last month."

He shook his head. "Their alpha's building an army. We don't scare them anymore. But they wouldn't go against him, he'd crack their bones and suck out the marrow, children or not."

His few brief meetings with the ancient vampire had frightened him. The creature was more powerful than anything else he'd seen, including angels and demons. And all that power had been under complete control, unemotional, intelligent, inhuman control.

"Well someone's gone off the reservation." She leaned forward again, looking at the map. "Fifteen missing persons, Dean."

"Big fucking nest."

"Very big," she agreed quietly. "You went to the alpha's place, didn't you?"

He nodded. "Thirty or so guards, even in daylight."

"But these won't be as … experienced … as his personal guards," she said. "These will be newish recruits, with no experience of kills or their powers."

His mouth twisted slightly as he thought about that. "Still a little outnumbered here."

"What was the range of your senses, when you were turned?" She looked at him, the small line appearing between her brows.

He thought back. Every noise in his immediate vicinity, say within fifteen feet, had been unbearably loud. He could smell the tang of fear in Samuel's sweat. When he'd been outside, and in the nest, he could hear the vamps on other floors, at the far end of the building, but he couldn't remember hearing anything from the outside. In Battle Creek … he'd been able to smell the blood of the living around him, say a half-mile range. And he'd been able to hear them, the people of the town, for possibly the same distance.

"Half a mile, I think." He looked away as he tried to shunt those memories aside again. "But that might have been amped up by the bloodlust."

"We'll work on that, anyway." She pulled out her laptop, bringing up the topography maps for the area. "Say a half-mile perimeter for the look-see tomorrow. Get an idea of the guards, their patterns, who comes in and goes out." On the screen she zoomed in on the house she thought was the right one. "From here."

He looked over her shoulder at the line of rising forest she was pointing out. It was a little over a half-mile from the house. There was an access road three miles north of it. He nodded.


	50. Chapter 50 Blood of the Damned

**Chapter 50**

* * *

Ellie was still, lying prone, her elbows and the rock in front of her supporting the binoculars she was looking through. She was under the covering bough of a healthy spruce, the fatigues she wore a mix of dark greens and greys, her hair covered by a mottled cap. She'd been watching for three hours now, acutely aware that the slightest error or movement could give her away to those she watched, whose senses were so much more refined than her own. To one side, slightly buried in the thick needles, Frank's modified infrared scope showed multiple targets, only four of which were currently moving.

Dean lay three hundred yards away, along the curve of the slope, his sector taking in the front of the house and a part of the approach road. They both wore the most sensitive military throat mikes Frank had been able to acquire, but neither spoke. It was too risky this close to the nest. Observation would continue for another three hours, then they would withdraw to a greater distance to check their findings.

It was this kind of detailed planning, Dean thought absently, that reassured him about Ellie's survival, and by extension, his own. A couple of years ago, he and Sam would've wriggled in closer and left it to luck not to be seen or heard. Even his father wouldn't have taken this much trouble, he thought. He kept his eyes against the soft rubber caps of the binoculars, and watched, moving the glasses through a ninety degree arc by increments every nine minutes.

He didn't see Ellie move, three hours later, didn't hear a sound, but he knew that she was gone. Moving slowly, he put the glasses into the small khaki pack and began to inch backwards, out from under the low branches and through the scrubby bushes that had covered him, careful not move a single leaf, or twig. Behind him, a shallow, broad channel traversed the slope, and once he was in it, he rolled to his feet, still doubled over, and worked his way up to the ridge line under its shelter.

"Ellie?" The word was barely a breath, the mike picking up the vibrations of his larynx and transmitting them to her.

"Yeah. Clear and out. I'll see you in five," her response, equally soft, came through the earpiece.

"Affirmative." He liked using the military gear, it was tough and stable and he had no idea how Frank got it, but it was always state of the art. It made their job a lot easier, especially for this kind of thing.

* * *

She was sitting in a deep cleft in the rock when he crawled over the other side of the ridge, almost invisible in the shadows. He took the proffered canteen and spat out the first mouthful, clearing his mouth, then drank deeply. Six hours in one position doing nothing but watching was no joke.

"Two guards at the front, two hours on, two off." He handed her back the canteen and settled down next to her. "I counted twenty-three, mostly going in before dawn this morning."

She nodded. "Same routine at the back. Infrared picked up twenty-one warm bodies inside the house, plus the four outside."

"Is that reliable?"

"If they've fed, yeah." She glanced up at the blue sky above them. "Midday hit?"

"I think most of them will be asleep then," he agreed. "How do you want to do the guards?"

"The long-range projectors." Ellie pulled out the map she'd sketched out from memory of the compound. "They're rated for a hundred yards, but probably iffy at that distance. The darts hold ten ccs, which should be enough to take them down and keep them immobile."

He looked at the map. "The front is covered by the forest. But the back looks pretty open."

She tapped a small square on the map. "This is a barn, just a small one, but I can come down in a straight line from that gully."

"Tomorrow?" He looked around.

"Today." She looked at him, waiting for him to make the call. Another night might mean more victims. She was fairly confident he would agree.

He nodded, getting to his feet, extending a hand to her. "Forgot how much exercise we get doing this."

The corners of her mouth tucked in. "Maybe we can market it as a get-fit routine."

"You mean, put out a video?"

"The very thing." She nodded. "Bouncy soundtrack."

"How 'bout … End of the World, R.E.M."

She swallowed the laugh that bubbled up, breathing hard for a second. "I'm going to tell Sam, soon as we get back."

"What? I listen to the radio," he muttered as he followed her along the washout.

* * *

It was closer to one when they took up their positions on either side of the clearing that surrounded the house. Dean worked his way through the long grass just out of the forest whenever the two guards turned away. He was well within their hearing, he thought, but neither appeared to notice his slow approach. He flicked on the laser sight at sixty yards, pulling back smoothly on the trigger just as the guard to the left turned around. Through the scope, he saw the small dart hanging from the centre of the red dot, the vamp's hand rising to pull it out of his neck, his knees already buckling slightly as the dose was injected into the big artery. The second guard was walking away and he shifted the barrel, firing as the creature turned. The gas cartridges were almost silent and the birds in the forest continued to call, the crickets continued to chirp.

Good gun. The thought was at the back of his mind as he rolled to his feet and ran across the clear space, the rifle already slung over his shoulder, the sharkskin hilt of his machete in his hand. The long, thick blade swung up, and then down, burying itself in the soil under the now-headless body. He ran to the other guard and chopped again, then moved to the wall, listening.

Distantly a truck rumbled along a road. Somewhere close by he could hear the buzzing of flies. Nothing from inside the house.

The house was big; three-story and sprawling out in two wings that extended from a central open hall. In his head, seconds ticked quietly away. His countdown had just reached a hundred and thirty when he saw the flicker of movement from the far corner of the house, Ellie running in a low crouch, under the line of the windows.

When she reached him, she pulled out what looked like a small gun from her jacket pocket, slipping the end into the lock on the door and pressing the button. There was a short, muffled clack. Putting the pick gun back in her pocket, she turned the door handle, and they slipped inside.

He'd come up with a good strategy to deal with the vamps, but it was only going to work if they were all together or could be brought all together. In the greyish twilight of the big hall, the ceiling far above them shadowed and dark, the clerestory windows set high above the ground floor covered with tattered sheets, he could see that the locals were following a similar layout to the nest in Illinois. On each side, welded mesh cages held three or four sleeping vampires, fledglings made recently. Older vamps slept on mattresses on the floor, or in hammocks slung from the fluted columns that lined either side of the room.

"Bring 'em all in here before we light them up?" he asked softly, looking at Ellie who was pulling a pair of goggles from her pack.

She nodded, slipping the goggles over her cap, so that they rested against her forehead. "Find a place where you'll be inconspicuous, you'll be mopping up." She looked at up at him. "Did I tell you how much I love this idea?"

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly at her grin. "Can't take the credit, but you can show me later."

He walked to the narrow hallway on the right hand side of the hall, pulling his own goggles from his pack. Behind him, Ellie left her rifle and pack on the floor, taking out four long cylinders and an iPod. She looked around. Given that the missing persons had all been in their late teens and early twenties, it hadn't seemed unreasonable that there would be some kind of music setup in the house. She breathed a sigh of relief on seeing the micro stereo in the corner. Walking over to it, she plugged the device in and set the track for replay, finding the volume control and turning it all the way to the right. She settled the goggles more firmly over her eyes, and pulled the machete from the sheath at her belt.

_All set_, she thought. She hit Play and she could hear the loud hum of the speakers as the track loaded. She walked to the centre of the room and crouched down, holding the end of one of the cylinders just above the floor.

The opening of the song was relatively quiet, just a timing beat on the snare. Then the guitar split the silence like a sledgehammer. She could imagine Dean's delighted expression as the music exploded into the room and throughout the house, and every vampire jerked upright at the same time, their hands reaching up to cover their ears. The original volume setting had been on two. From what Dean'd told her about the enormous sensitivity of sight and hearing, she thought it was probably somewhat akin to waking up next to a space shuttle launch. She hoped so.

There was movement all around her as the vampires leapt to their feet, heads swinging around, looking for the source of the noise, and fixing on her. Slamming the first cylinder down onto the hardwood floor, she threw it a few feet away, the monstrous argentine light burning too brightly to look at, filling every space and crack, crevice and cranny of the room with hot white light. She slammed the second cylinder down and tossed it toward the other side of the room, the flash goggles covering her eyes darkening to black.

Magnesium burns fiercely, around 5,610F and is difficult to extinguish. It also emits strong ultraviolet. Ellie watched the vampires running from the light, unable to see, unable to hear over the stereo's massive guitar riffs, their flesh beginning to redden and blister from the unshielded ultraviolet in the room, the equivalent of sitting on the beach in high summer without shade. She lit the third and fourth cylinders, tossing them to the outer edges of the hall, alongside the cages, and lifted her machete, striding fast to the nearest group, unconsciously in time with the raw power of the song.

* * *

The floorboards were reverberating under Dean's feet with the pounding bass from the speakers, and he watched the vamps race past him, turning and throwing their arms over their faces as they reached the edge of the light-filled room. Moving up behind them, it was a surprisingly easy task to take their heads. Their senses, so powerful in the dark and silence, were traumatised by the light and deafening decibels, they couldn't hear him approach, they couldn't see him, they couldn't even smell him as their skin began to burn. He walked the long halls, checking every room, every closet, spiralling inward around the house and back toward the hall.

Ellie looked up as he came in through the hallway on the other side. She turned away as he dealt with the few that remained there, walking to the stereo and unplugging the iPod, silence dropping over them like a bellglass, her ears ringing in it. In the corner, the French woman's head stared sightlessly at the ceiling, platinum blonde hair sticky with blood, her body a few feet away, the skin continuing to blister as the flares burned. The smell of blood was thick in the air, coating the floor and sizzling slightly where it touched the burning flares. Blood of the damned only, she thought with dark satisfaction. Neither she nor Dean had spilled a drop of theirs.

She touched the mike at her throat lightly. "Any survivors?"

"No." Dean's voice was a whisper in her ear. "I've got a count of fifteen here."

"Six here." She looked down at the heads. "Plus the four guards."

The flares were burning out, leaving huge burned patches on the floor, the light reducing slowly to more bearable levels.

Dean wiped off his blade. "This house is clean."

* * *

It was a long walk back to the car. Ellie shifted her pack to the other shoulder, her arms and shoulders aching fiercely from the workout they'd had. She looked down at her hands, remarkably unbloodied considering the nature of the job, but covered in black grime, stinking to high heaven of carrion and the graveyard and a nauseating spicy-musky scent from the various trilliums, and soot from the pyre. Beside her, Dean looked the same, his eyes bright in the grime that covered his face, little wavy lines of odour almost visible above him. She smiled suddenly. Probably not too many couples who could put up with aromas like these on each other.

"So, you can't take the credit for that?" She looked at him curiously. "Is this another girl story?"

His mouth twisted slightly as he looked away. "Jaime. I never found out her last name, we weren't … it wasn't that kind of relationship. She was a hunter, her dad too."

Ellie listened to him, hearing the emphasis on the past tense, and old pain under the words. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." He shook his head. "She died a long time ago, and there wasn't that much that I knew about her." He glanced at her. "She was a bit like you, straightforward, easy to be with. But she didn't want connections. She'd turn up, and then go a day or two later, and she never said anything about herself. Never asked me anything either."

"Sounds relaxing." She knew how he'd been, in '06-'07, driven by his father's sacrifice and his deal. Company with no demands on him would have been ideal.

Dean looked at her curiously, relieved by her understanding, slightly amazed by it as well. "Yeah, it was. No strings, no ties, just … anyway, we ran into her in some crapola dive and it was a nest – she'd been scoping the place for a few days, we just happened in at the wrong time. She used the flares, turned the jukebox up to eleven, just incapacitated the sons of bitches and took out most of them on her own."

He remembered the way the place had exploded when she'd rammed the broken pool cue into the leader's throat, fangs fucking everywhere, then Motorhead at full volume and then the light, banishing the shadows, bleaching the colour from everything.

Ellie smiled, watching the expressions cross his face. "It was brilliant. Daniel told me it took six or seven hunters to bring down a nest of over twenty vampires. I'm kind of disappointed that he never thought of blinding and deafening them himself."

He nodded, feeling tired suddenly. "Do you think there were any we could've saved, in there?" He gestured back down the valley.

"I checked the cages before I started. Blood bags in every one. All empty." She shook her head. "The last missing person was a week ago. Could you have gone a week without feeding when you were turned?"

_No._ His shoulders slumped. _There was no way_. He might have held out for another day, but that would have been it. He'd have fed. And the cure didn't work once human blood had been ingested.

Ellie moved a little closer to him, seeing the disillusionment in his face. "There won't be any more taken, Dean. Not here."

"Yeah." He glanced down at her. "Yeah, I know."

* * *

Ellie sat on the side of the bed, towelling her hair dry, bone-tired but at least clean and no longer stinking like a three-day-dead corpse. Their gear was packed, ready to go. She could hear Dean muttering in the shower, knowing he was trying to get the combination of ash and oil off his skin, probably taking the top layer off by now.

All in all it hadn't been a bad test for their skills. She thought of the moment in the restroom when she'd stood next to the vampire and forced herself to get closer, close enough to tag her. Her fear had been a surprise, rising suddenly and difficult to subdue, to lock away. That was probably just a normal part of getting back into it, she thought. The old discipline had held, after all, it just wasn't as smooth and automatic as it used to be.

She tossed the towel over the chair to one side of the bed and started to comb through the tangled skeins. And the job itself hadn't exactly been a cake-walk, so there was no need to be too hard on herself. Dean had slid back into the routine as smoothly as she'd ever seen him, maybe better than he'd been before. He was older now, in his prime really, and watching him over the last couple of days had been an odd kind of thrill, his experience, his skills, his knowledge had alchemised into a mature and certain confidence in himself that was impossible to resist. She felt the familiar stirring inside and smiled faintly.

There had been a lot of times when she'd thought he wouldn't let go of the past, wouldn't find his way through the pain and the guilt he'd carried for so many years. He'd told her he couldn't do it without her, but he'd been wrong about that. He'd done it on his own, for the most part, found himself and all the things that he liked about himself, and had rebuilt from the ground up. He had conquered himself and it showed in everything he did now, from how he was with his children, to the calm and objective view he'd taken of this hunt.

"You know … a loving wife might have told me how hard that stuff is to get off, before I slathered it everywhere." He came out of the bathroom, skin red, a towel slung low around his hips.

"'The only source of knowledge is experience.'" She smiled at him.

"Don't quote Einstein at me." He pulled the towel free and looked down at himself. "Look at this, I look like a lobster."

"I didn't tell you to put it everywhere." She let her gaze move over him consideringly. "And you don't look like … a lobster."

He lifted his head at the shift in the tone in her voice. "I thought you were tired?"

"I am."

"Huh." He walked to her, following her onto the bed as she wriggled backwards, one hand freeing the towel that covered her, as he brushed his mouth over hers.

"Sure about that?" He lifted his head slightly, looking around. "All this kid-free time to ourselves?"

She looked up at him, linking her hands behind his neck as he settled himself on top of her, holding most of his weight on his elbows.

"Kid-free time?" she repeated mockingly, "You're dying to get home."

He smiled. "Yeah, I am." He bent his head to run his mouth along her neck, feeling the deep shiver that passed through her. "But we're not leaving right now."

She moved her hands lightly down his sides, looking into his eyes as the touch inflamed him, and that, in turn, sent a violent jolt of arousal through her. It had never failed to astound her how just looking at him, his face vulnerable and open in the grip of desire, his eyes dark and his pulse fluttering at the base of his throat, could make her instantly wet, instantly aching for him.

Danger was a powerful aphrodisiac, and sex a powerful release from the fear that invariably came with any job, that had to be repressed, held under lock and key until the job was done. It would have been easy to write off their physical attraction to those, if not that the same reactions were present when they weren't working, had always been there.

Biology or chemistry or spirituality, it didn't matter what it was. Only that when he touched her, no matter how tired she was or how distracted, she responded, body and mind and soul yearning to be with him, for them to be profoundly connected, in the only way physically possible. It didn't matter how light-heartedly or playfully it began. The indivisible mix of emotion and physical sensation invariably brought its own solemnity to their lovemaking, its own sense of a deeper meaning, a bonding that they both craved.

Dean's infrequent speculations on the subject were that it was just the only way he could get close to someone else, that he'd spent a lifetime of using sex as a means of intimacy, not understanding that what he'd been trying to find was the mental and emotional closeness he had now. Ellie thought that was likely, but there was an even more simple driver than that. After a lifetime of pain, she thought he revered pleasure, both giving and receiving, his mind and body now hardwired to being unable to treat it lightly or without full feeling. She could see it in everything he did, from eating to playing with his children to listening to the music they both loved. And he was turned on as much by seeing her satiation, as she was watching his.

She arched up under him, and distantly heard his indrawn breath catch, quicken, become uneven as she began to tremble around his fingers. She opened her eyes, struggling to focus on his, fingers tightening on his shoulders as her hips bucked against his hand.

Dean moaned, deep in his throat, and moved, spreading her wider and pushing inside, through the shudders and against the full tightness, nervous system feeding his brain faster and faster until the data collected joined up and meshed into a solid sensation of taut and unyielding ecstasy, pulling at him harder with each thrust. It was so easy to get lost here, floating, no thoughts, only feeling, and it was a good place to be lost, but it couldn't last, the feeling building subtly at first, then demandingly. He could feel the vibrato of her muscles, humming around him and that pushed him – _shoved_ him – further, into a higher altitude where he had to fight for every breath because his muscles were tightening, contracting, and _fuck_, he was going to explode, going supernova right now, right here.

* * *

He woke just before dawn, stretching out contentedly in the warmth of the bed, muscles heavy and loose, still suffused with the faint ache of the workouts yesterday. Ellie lay on her side next to him, and he rolled over, pressing his lips against the smooth skin of her shoulder, deciding, a little reluctantly, not to wake her.

Easing himself out of the bed, he pulled on jeans and a shirt, moving silently out of the room on bare feet and closing the door behind him. He walked to the narrow galley kitchen and made a pot of coffee, running a hand through his hair as he mentally double-checked that their gear was ready.

It had been a tough job, he thought, to mark their re-entry into the active aspects of the life. They hadn't made any mistakes, but he could still feel the trace residue of adrenalin in his system, hunting so many vamps with just the two of them and no margin for an error of any kind.

The coffee pot burbled and he turned around, getting a cup and filling it. He carried it to the dining table, pulling back the curtains, seeing the stretch of ocean in front of him, fish-scaled at this height by the first lightening of the sky to the east.

The Alpha vamp was still running around loose, he thought. And from what they'd seen here, operation vamp army was still underway. He wondered vaguely how many new recruits each nest was supposed to get. And how many nests were already set up, across the country, preying on a naïve and overly sexualised generation of kids who had nothing better to do than indulge themselves in gothic fantasies, only to find out that the myths were real. And fatal, one way or the other.

He shook the thought off and sat down, watching the light get stronger over the sea as he drank the black coffee. They would need a better means of collecting intelligence about the vampire nests, and maybe it was time to reform the teams, work on rotating shifts as they found each location. Something for Frank and Twist to get their teeth into.

Now that they were done, he found he wanted nothing more than to get home, to see and hold John and Rosie. He'd switched gears easily for the job, maybe even more easily than Ellie had, which would be a first. It was still a slight shock to think of himself as a father, as a husband, to know he had a family and that it was real and it was good beyond belief. He remembered telling Ben that he hadn't been a person fit to sit at their table. Back then, he hadn't. The way he'd thought of himself, the way he'd felt about himself, had been distorted, malformed, and he'd been unable to change it, on his own. The woman sleeping down the hall had been his key. The one person he could trust with everything. The one person who saw him, not only as he really was, but as he could be. She knew him. She'd helped him sort out the distortions from himself, helped him to get through that long and tangled process and come to accept that he wasn't all bad, wasn't all darkness and lost cause. She denied it, for some reason, telling him he'd done it himself, but he knew that without her, he would still be floundering in that morass of uncertainty and horror and feeling as if he could never be clean, never be whole.

He knew what he was. He was a hunter. A killer. But somewhere along the line, he'd forgotten that it wasn't all he was. Any more than it was all she was. The discovery that there was more to him had disoriented him. For a long time, he'd believed … well, he'd believed that it was either/or. That he couldn't have anything else. That he was cursed. Damned. Doomed.

"_If that's all you are, then it must be all I am too," she'd said, in the early hours of a morning when they'd talked all through the night, the near-empty bottle on the table, the fire dying in the hearth, both of them stone-cold sober._

_He'd looked at her, mouth opening in surprise as he tried to absorb that. It wasn't all she was._

"_It's not the same thing." He'd searched for the words. "You haven't done what I have."_

"_It is the same." She'd looked away from him. "We're hunters, Dean, and we kill. But we're still human, still have souls and hearts."_

_He'd wrestled with that, and she'd left him to it, going out and coming back hours later. It'd taken more than the one conversation but she'd persisted, making him think about what he believed instead of just believing it._

It hadn't been easy, he'd fought her on so many things, trying to push her away, trying to drive her away sometimes. He'd wondered, in the aftermath of those fights, how she could stay, remembering the things he'd said. But she had stayed.

The first ray of gold spilled over the mountains to the east and touched the edge of the ocean, its reflection from the water dazzlingly bright. He heard the bedroom door open and moments later felt her behind him, her lips warm and soft against his neck.

"Hey." He turned in the chair. She was looking out the window, hair loose, thin white t-shirt half tucked into old denim jeans, her feet bare, like his.

"Hey." She turned back to him, smiling slightly. "When do you want to go?"

He shrugged. "As soon as we can, I guess."

"Breakfast at Salinas?" She turned away and walked to the kitchen, getting a cup and pouring herself a coffee.

"Sounds good." He glanced out the window again, then drained his cup and got up. "Everything packed up?"

She nodded. "Yeah, it's all ready."

* * *

"Seems like we've been gone for weeks, not a couple of days." Dean turned the car onto the road, and they started to climb into the mountains, fields dropping away and forest beginning to encroach on the rocky slopes.

"Yeah." Ellie rolled her neck, easing the stiffness there. "You were in the zone quickly."

He glanced sideways at her, hearing something underlying the words. "Yeah, you too."

She shook her head. "No, I meant that you were really …," she hesitated, looking for the words to explain. "You were really there, on top of everything, no doubts, no hesitations."

He frowned. "As opposed to what?"

She smiled. "As opposed to being unprepared, out of shape, nervous etcetera."

"Not like I haven't done it before, once or twice."

"You're better than you were before, Dean. A lot better." She looked at him. "You're completely confident in what you do now. And it shows."

He snorted, unable to think of a response to that. It'd felt smooth, easier to work through the angles, easier to think ahead and figure it out. She'd helped, though. It hadn't just been him running the show.

"So, you just followed orders, eh?" he said, his mouth lifting at one corner.

"Not entirely." She saw the smile. "But this is the first time we've hunted together where you haven't waited for me to confirm something you've come up with."

His eyes narrowed slightly as he thought about that. Was it? Ellie was so used to hunting on her own, successfully, that he did usually wait and see what she came up, or ran his ideas past her to find any holes in them. He hadn't any doubts about the strategies for this hunt. It hadn't felt like he'd come up with all the answers, but he hadn't been second-in-command either.

He saw the turning for their road ahead, and slowed down to make the turn. "Maybe," he allowed. "You think I finally took the pebble?"

From the corner of his eye, he saw her smile, the wide, brilliant smile. "I think you did."

The idea sat in his mind, comfortably, but without further associations just yet. It was going to take a little while to get used to it, he thought.

"Do you want to get the kids on the way in?" he asked.

"Yep." Ellie stretched her legs out.

He pulled into Sam's driveway a few minutes later, the distinctive rumble of the Impala's engine bringing Sam striding around the house from the back yard, John racing behind him, Marc and Laura and Rosie slowly trailing them.

"Dad!"

Dean slid out of the driver's seat, bracing himself as John leapt the final four feet, cannoning into his chest with his usual lack of concern for knees and elbows.

Ellie came around the front of the car, and swept Rosie up, burying her face in the toddler's tufts of copper-red hair.

For several minutes the front yard was a tumult of noise, high-pitched childrens' voices and shrieks completely drowning out whatever Sam, Dean and Ellie tried to say.

"We'll take 'em home." Dean yelled over the top of the noise, lifting John and turning to the car. Sam nodded, catching the hands of Marc and Laura and drawing them back, as Ellie opened her door.

"Okay, you two, enough for now." Ellie buckled them in, giving each a kiss. "You can tell us all about as soon as we're home, right now your Dad has to concentrate on getting us there in one piece, okay?"

Two pairs of round eyes watched Dean as he turned around, looking past them through the rear window to back slowly down the drive. Both children had seemed to naturally know when they could be rowdy, and when they had to behave, from a very early age. Something in the genes? Ellie wondered. Or just the underlying knowledge passing along to them by osmosis, from watching their parents' vigilance in everyday life?

They crested the long slope, passing through the iron gates of the property and feeling the tyres rise and fall very slightly over the buried iron track beneath them, and Ellie felt the last of her tension fall away.

"You know who that is?" Dean asked, the wariness in his tone making her straighten up to look.

The charcoal Mercedes was pulled a little off from the front of the house, leaving room for other cars to pass. The windows were tinted to almost black.

"No." She reached for the glove box, taking out his automatic and her SIG, putting both on the seat between them.

"I'll get the kids inside," he said, his voice even and calm. She nodded. She would be the furthest from the house; she could cover them while he did it.

He pulled up, and turned off the engine, opening his door and dropping below its level immediately. Ellie opened her door, the SIG's barrel presenting a small target from behind it, watching the grey car ahead.

Dean had Rosie in his arm and John's hand in his when the driver's door of the Mercedes opened.

"Don't move." Ellie moved out of the car, the SIG levelled at the back of the blond head she could see over the car's roof. Behind her, she heard Dean hustle into the house, the front door opening and closing behind them. She walked slowly around the front of the Impala, keeping the man beside the other car in view the whole time.

"Turn around."

He turned slowly, hands held at shoulder height and extended out to either side, long blonde hair drawn back into a ponytail and held by a silver clasp.

"Really, Ellie, I would have called if I'd realised you were going to be this paranoid."


	51. Chapter 51 Unexpected Visitor

**Chapter 51**

* * *

Ellie heard the soft Louisiana accent and lifted her head, watching the high cheekbones and aquiline nose come into view as he pivoted toward her, dark blue eyes, deeply set, the wide, full-lipped mouth and square jawline.

Remy Lavesseur.

She smiled, but didn't lower the gun. "It's been a long time, Remy. You should have called."

"I had to use three different rituals to get this location, Ellie. I wasn't sure that it was correct, and no number was provided." His gaze flicked over her shoulder to the door. "You have been very skilled at keeping yourself hidden."

"We have a lot of enemies," she retorted mildly, hearing Dean's footsteps as he walked up behind her, and lowering the gun. "What are you doing here?"

The mobile mouth flexed in a one-sided smile. "Would you believe a visit for old time's sake?"

"No." She saw Dean in the corner of her eye. "Dean, this is Remy Lavesseur, he's an old – friend. Remy, Dean Winchester."

The two men stared at each other for a moment, before Remy extended his hand and Dean took it. Ellie watched the play of muscle in their forearms and sighed inwardly.

"What are you doing here, Remy?"

"I'm looking for an artefact and well, you're probably the only one who has the faintest chance of getting it." He spread his hands out in a defenceless gesture. Ellie inclined her head.

"You must be desperate to come looking for me."

"I am." He glanced at Dean. "It's a long story."

* * *

Dean leaned against the mantle, listening as Remy spoke. His nerves were prickling, had been since he'd seen the car on the drive. He hadn't missed the slight hesitation in Ellie's introduction, and had seen Lavesseur's brow rise fractionally as well.

Watching them, he saw the slight deference in Lavesseur's attitude to his wife, almost unnoticeable, but there, an extra layer of courtesy that he tended to associate with people who'd been involved at one time.

The name was bugging him too. He'd heard it or seen it somewhere, but he couldn't think where. The man had passed all the tests. Silver, salt, iron, holy water, had touched the sigils of binding and passed through the traps that guarded the entrances. There was still something that bothered him. He didn't think it was just the way Lavesseur looked at Ellie.

"The chalice is fourth century, Persian," Remy was saying, leaning across the low table. "It was supposed to have some kind of legend about it being the Grail, but it was authenticated in the '70s, which put the kibosh on that rumour, centuries too late."

"So why do you need it?" Ellie sat on the opposite couch, her expression neutral.

"I saw the authentication. It contains some very rare minerals. Seems that the original craftsman might have found a meteorite and made the chalice from that."

Dean saw Ellie's eyes narrow suddenly. "No. Whatever it's made of, you could get that." Her gaze dropped to his wrist. "You're wearing a Blancpain watch; that's just an off-the-rack Armani, I'm sure you have tailored at home; the Merc in the drive is this year's model … you haven't done badly for yourself, you could buy what you need." She shook her head. "So. You know I respond better to the truth, Remy. What are you really after?"

Remy's eyes widened slightly and he smiled. "I see you're still quite observant, Ellie." He shrugged. "The owner won't sell. And yes, there is more than just a legend associated with the chalice."

She leaned back against the couch, one brow arched slightly, waiting.

"Alright." He looked at her, steepling his fingers under his chin. "It's a part of the Millennium clock."

Dean frowned, looking at Ellie's incredulous expression.

"Come on, Remy, what have you been drinking?" she asked, lips curling up. "That was a great movie plot, but it's not real."

"Of course it's real." Remy straightened, staring at her. "The Illuminati gave their approval for those scripts because they knew as well as you do that the best way to hide a secret is to give it to Hollywood and let them ridicule it." He stood up, walking around behind the couch. "We found them in Rome, Ellie."

"We found a not-so-secret society who _claims_ to have control over time and the population, but we didn't get any further answers then, and I haven't come across anyone since who's been able to provide any more proof." Ellie shifted to the edge of the couch, watching Remy pacing behind the other couch. "Even if it were all true, the clock was supposed to start in 2000."

Dean blinked in surprise at the edge in her voice. He knew that edge, it only came out when she was gearing up for a fight. He didn't know how Remy had gotten her so worked up in such a short time.

"Only in the Judeo-Christian calendar."

"Oh please, we're not having the same argument over the Mayans again."

"No. We're not." Remy stopped walking and looked at her. "You were right about that. But the dates got screwed when they took the current calendar from the bible, you know that."

"And you've found a way to unscrew them?" She stood up, shaking her head. "Where did you get that information?"

"Trust me, you don't know want to know." He looked away. "It's real. I've verified it through a dozen other sources – ask the Watchers," He gestured to the road. "They'll tell you, Ellie. It's the end of this year." He walked slowly around the couch to her. "The Illuminati have started actively hunting the pieces, and I think the chalice is the last one."

She looked up at him irritably. "Don't think I'm going to swallow this without checking."

"Of course not. Give Andre a call. Or Monique. Either one will tell you that they were contracted to find the other pieces, over the last eighteen months. Those two and quite a few others. The Illuminati have been using cut-outs but don't seem to realise that in those circles, they all talk to each other." He smiled down at her, and Dean cleared his throat, walking to stand behind her.

"What are you two talking about?" He looked over Ellie's head at Remy. "Late to the game here."

Ellie turned away from Remy and sat down again. "You've seen _Tomb Raider_, haven't you?" she asked, her tone dry. "A secret society, known as the Illuminati, possibly re-formed from the Knights Templar in the Dark Ages, had a device that can control the flow of Time – forward, back, even across the alternative timelines. They were under suspicion in those days from the Church and they broke the clock into a dozen pieces, hiding the pieces all over the world."

Dean looked at Remy, and sat down next to her. "Yeah, I saw the movie."

She looked back to Remy. "Do you have any documentation of your verification?"

"In the car," Remy said, gesturing to the outside. "I didn't imagine you'd just take my word for it."

"No." She smiled coolly. "Better dig it out."

He turned for the door, and Dean looked at Ellie. "How'd you say you knew this guy?"

"I met him in Paris, after Michael was killed, in 2005." She rubbed her forehead tiredly. Rosie was having a nap upstairs; John was playing a game in the downstairs playroom. She didn't really want to be sitting here with the possibility of having to spend days checking through and verifying Remy's assertions for a doomsday device that was almost certainly a fairytale.

"We worked together for a year, then I came back to the States."

"Worked together?" He looked at the doorway. "He's a hunter?"

"No. He's an adept, a witch who follows the Right Hand Path." She glanced into her now-empty coffee cup. "There was a case where a coven was chewing up the local population and he offered to help."

"So he's a witch?" His mouth twisted slightly.

"Yeah." She heard the tone in his voice and looked at him. "He doesn't use demons for power. He, uh, follows a different path."

"Right."

"Anyway, I went to Italy after … in 2010, and we followed some leads on this secret society. It turned out to be a fizzer, in my view. We couldn't substantiate any of it, and when the leads dried up we had to give it up."

Dean was only vaguely listening. 2010. After Raphael had tried to smite her, and he'd gone to Indiana. He dragged his thoughts back to the conversation.

"And this, uh, clock. It's supposed to be a real thing?" he asked.

"Yeah." She picked up the empty cup. "In the '20s, there was some sort of investigation into the various calendars, much of it based around trying to prove the prophecies that had some kind of fame, like Nostrodamus. So far as I recall, no one actually got the calendars sorted out. But a few other things came up over the course of the investigation." She stood up.

"There was some substantiation that a mathematician in the Middle East had built something, something powerful. It was never confirmed by an eye witness, only conversations with the maker, and it couldn't be found. But in the eleventh century, the Knights Templar claimed to have found it, while the crusades were supposed to be centred around Jerusalem." She looked down at him. "I need another coffee."

He followed as she walked to the kitchen, still talking. "The story got very mixed up, more rumour than fact with every passing century, with every translation from the original texts and letters of the crusaders." Ellie poured herself another cup from the pot, and sipped it. "The order already had several factions, who could probably see which way the wind was going to blow given the politics of the time. One of the factions sent a party to the east – supposedly to get the assistance of the Persians for a battle near Bethlehem. Of the twenty men who went, only two returned, and both – well, the reports were that neither had aged."

"How long were they supposed to be gone?" Dean asked, frowning as he tried to keep track of the various elements of the story. History hadn't been of much interest at school. He didn't know anything about the time period.

"Fifty years."

"Huh. So that would've been noticeable." He watched her, seeing the slight line appear between her brows. Something about the story was bugging her. Probably a whole lot of things, he thought sourly.

"Extremely." She put the cup down. "One of the more reliable sources was the wife of the returning knight. She wrote in her journal that she couldn't believe it was her husband. He hadn't aged a day, and she was an old woman when he returned."

"Okay." He shook that off for a moment. "And how did this clock or device or whatever it is make it into the plot of an action flick?"

Ellie shrugged. "The myths about all of this have been around for a long time. You can look it up on the internet. I guess someone surfed it and thought it would be a nice, exciting plot."

"Then why would the society need to give its permission for the filmmakers to use the script?"

"Well, that's the part that's in contention." Ellie sighed. "The filmmakers didn't need anyone's permission. The society doesn't have a legal claim to the name. It's been used in a lot of fiction over the years. And the script really didn't bear any resemblance to the myth. It had a whole lot of mumbo-jumbo that isn't in the myth. Like the planetary conjunction." She shrugged. "There's no possibility of a planetary conjunction, at least not in our solar system. Maybe it was a part of a publicity stunt, I don't know."

She picked up her cup, swallowing the rest of the coffee. "There was a device built. No one knows what it was or what it did. The Templars did go to Persia and may have found something. Two returned and hadn't aged. Those are the only 'facts' that haven't changed or been distorted. And they were separately verified by different sources."

"If you don't think this is possible, why are you taking it so seriously?" he asked, watching her face. Was it a favour to the old – friend?

She put her cup down and folded her arms. "I don't think that it is likely. But if, if by some remote possibility it is true, then it has to be found, and destroyed."

His brows rose. "By us? This sounds like it's out of our league."

She laughed softly. "Yeah, it definitely is. The trouble is that with a means of controlling time, nearly everyone – monster, human, angel and demon – will want it. And whoever has it will use it."

* * *

Ellie looked at the half-dozen archive boxes that covered the dining table tiredly. Remy had left an hour ago, leaving the research here. He'd said he was going to San Francisco, to speak to Monique, see if she still had the last piece she'd acquired. He thought he'd be back in four days. It would be enough time for her to verify what he'd discovered, she thought. Or at least find out if it could be verified. She leaned forward and flipped the lid off the first box, pulling out a handful of the files inside.

"We need help with this." Dean stood in the doorway, looking at the boxes.

"No argument." She turned to look at him. "John and Rosie tucked up in bed?"

"Yep. Reluctantly, but finally." He smiled slightly, and walked into the room, slipping his arms around her, pressing his lips against the side of her neck. "You want to start this now?"

"No." She turned in his arms and linked her hands behind his neck. "No, it can wait until morning."

He bent and kissed her, surprising her with the hungry demand of his mouth, some edge of emotion held back but seeping around the edges of his control.

"What's wrong?" She looked into his eyes when they broke apart. They were shuttered.

"Nothing." He shook his head, his arm encircling her shoulders, walking with her out of the room.

* * *

The house was silent and dark. In the bedroom, the thin moonlight from the quarter moon slanted in across the floor, the foot of the bed, changing the familiar shapes with the shadows it left. Dean listened to Ellie's soft breathing, his body warm and relaxed from their lovemaking, the thoughts in his mind tangled and chaotic.

She'd seen him in Indiana in November, he remembered. Then she'd left. She hadn't reappeared until June, two years later. After he'd moved in with Lisa and Ben, he'd stopped asking about her, tried to stop thinking about her. It was irrational to feel the betrayal of her being with someone else over that time. He knew that. He'd been with Lisa. It didn't stop the feeling, not all the rationality in the world could stop that feeling.

_Hadn't she deserved some happiness, after seeing you with someone else?_ The galling thought snuck in past his defences. _Yes. Yes!_ _No_. She should have just turned up at Lisa's place. He would have felt guilty about Lisa, guilty about Ben, but at least they both could've gotten on with their lives. The way it had played out no one had won, no one had been happy, no one had what they'd wanted. And Ellie had been with someone else.

He rolled over carefully, wrapping an arm around her waist, breathing the scent of her hair in deeply. Sam, freed after barely a week. Ellie, gone to another continent. And they'd both left him there, so fucking miserable without them that he'd wanted to die.

_Forget it. In the past. Done. Gone_. He frowned as he tried to shunt the old pain away. No way of changing it. He looked down at the line of temple and cheekbone that was all he could see of her face. She'd told him that he'd needed that year. Needed it to get his head sorted, on his own, without help. And by the end of it, she was back in the States, but he'd still been with Lisa, still been trying.

_I know what I want. But I can't have it_. Lise'd said to him. He hadn't been able to say anything to that. He'd been in the same position. Knowing what he wanted. Unable to have it. Ever, he'd thought back then. He had it now. He had all of it, so much more than he'd ever thought was possible. So why risk screwing it up because Ellie had looked to someone else for comfort, in the years they'd been apart? Why couldn't he put it back into the past and leave it there, where it couldn't hurt what they had together?

He didn't know. His imagination threw images at him. He tried to shut them out, tried to keep them away. He didn't need to see those images, didn't want to see them. It was all in the past and what was in the past stayed in the past, right? _No_. Not always.

_Remy Lavasseur_. He'd seen the name, he thought. Seen it written down in a heavy, spiky hand. He couldn't remember where. Or even why that handwriting had seemed so familiar. He lifted his hand, rubbing at his face, trying to rub the thoughts out. He needed sleep, but for the first time in a long time, he was afraid of the dreams that sleep would bring.

* * *

Sam looked at the contents of the first archive box, brows rising as he skimmed over the contents. He turned to his brother.

"So, we're actually chasing down a myth from a movie plot. You must be in heaven."

Dean glowered at him. "Just start reading."

Baraquiel and Talya stood at the other end of the table, lifting files out and setting them into piles.

"Well, your friend was right about the calendar. The correct date would put the clock's activation at the end of this year," the Watcher said quietly to Ellie. "If, of course, such a thing existed."

"Did you hear any rumours of a group of knights leaving the region and heading east, in the eleventh century?"

"There were always rumours, Ellie." Baraquiel smiled gently. "I will check our records. It possible that one of the others heard something and recorded it."

She nodded, bending over the file she was reading.

* * *

The windows in the dining room were tall and narrow, facing south. The bars of sunlight that came through them in the day moved slowly around the room, and Ellie stayed at the table, reading, making notes, occasionally calling a contact for further information.

Dean watched her, recognising the single mindedness of her concentration. He hadn't seen her quite this focussed since she'd been searching for details about the prophecy of Lucifer's second rising, he realised. Along with Lavesseur's files, the table and the surrounding floor was covered by texts and manuscripts and notes, mostly from their library, a vast collection that took up the entire basement of the house. In it, carefully preserved now, were the libraries of Bobby, of Rufus, of Jim Murphy and the Watcher, Penemue. As well as all the books Ellie had been collecting since she'd started hunting.

He leaned on the table next to her. "Come for a walk."

She looked up at him. "Maybe later."

He smiled, reluctantly. "We've got an hour before sunset. Come on, you've been here all day." He glanced at the door. "John wants to see the fox's den before dark."

Ellie leaned back and sighed. He was right. Research was an obsession she fell back into too easily. She stood up and walked with him to the front porch, smiling at John's boundless energy as he raced down the drive, turning left instead of right to head up the slope and into the forest.

"What'd you find?" Dean asked, his gaze tracking his son.

Ellie hesitated before answering. "He might be right."

"About this clock thing?" Dean looked at her, saw her nod. "And if it does exist, what's it supposed to do, exactly?"

"Well, according to the myth, it will activate at midnight on December 31st. Once it's activated, whoever holds it can control the flow and direction of time."

"But this chalice that Lavesseur wants, that's just one of the pieces?"

She nodded again. "I called around. Talked to some people who are in the business of acquiring rare antiquities. Remy was right about that too," she said, a little wearily. "Both Andre and Monique were hired to find different pieces of it. Both of them knew of others who had similar contracts. It's likely that the chalice is the final piece. The one they don't have yet."

"Do we know where this chalice is right now?"

"Oh yeah," she said, and smiled at his expression. "It's in the Museum of Antiquities in New York City. It's been on display there for the last week."

He looked at her carefully. "I take it, since no one has stolen it so far, that the museum has a good security system."

Ellie smiled wryly. "It would be easier to break into Langley than this museum."

"Awesome."

They reached the small clearing in the woods, John already crouching behind a fallen tree and watching the darkly shadowed den mouth in silence. Ellie settled down behind him, feeling Dean kneel beside her. The sunlight was a rich, old gold, tinged with red and they sat and watched the tree trunks and low undergrowth outlined in it, the woods looking as if they were on fire.

The vixen's nose came out from the shadows cautiously. She waited, with the quiet patience of wild animals, listening, smelling, her senses extended outward from the den. After a few minutes, she decided it was safe enough and walked out slowly. Behind her three cubs trotted out, running into each other and their mother, extending their explorations as the vixen sat down. Each cub might as well have been on a tether, Dean thought, going exactly so far from its mother and no further. The light lit their coats to the glowing red of embers, the white shirt fronts and tail tips standing out in vivid contrast.

John shifted incautiously, his feet rustling the dead leaves and the vixen's head lifted sharply, as she uttered a short yap. The cubs raced into the den and she stood up, staring straight at them for a long moment then turning and following them.

"Aww," John whispered, looking down. Ellie glanced at Dean and smiled.

"Come on, it's nearly dark anyway," she said softly, "We can see them again tomorrow."

They retraced their steps home, John no longer running ahead. He held his mother's hand and walked with his head down.

"Why do they have to be so scared of us?" he asked her, after a few minutes of silence.

"They have a lot of enemies in the forest, baby." Ellie looked down at him. "There are bigger animals who might want to eat them. And sometimes people come up and scare them."

"She was just being a good mom, kiddo." Dean looked at John. "Like your mom."

John nodded, still disconsolate at having frightened them away.

"You want a high ride back to the house?" Dean stopped, and Ellie stopped as well, both of them waiting to see if the treat would overcome the little boy's disappointment.

"All the way?" John looked up hopefully.

"Sure." He glanced at Ellie. "Can't kill me, right?"

"He's getting heavier." She smiled, as he knelt and John clambered onto his shoulders.

"Not wrong." He shrugged his shoulders, making the boy squeal and wrap his hands around his neck, and started walking again, his hands gripping his son's legs.

"I take it you want to go and get this thing from New York." He didn't look at her, watching the darkening path ahead of them. Ellie heard the resignation in his voice.

"Yeah. I'm not sure that we can, but there's no choice. Not really."

"Why is it that there's never any choice?" he grumbled.

* * *

It took Frank two days to get all the schematics and security systems for the museum and he brought them up to the house with a strict admonition not to involve him in this particular escapade.

"Why?" Dean asked, as Ellie spread the plans across the table.

"Because it's impossible and you're going to get caught and spend the rest of your lives in Leavenworth and I'm too old for that shit," Frank snapped and left.

"I miss his optimism." He walked around the table and stood next to Ellie, looking over the elevations, his eyes narrowing as he took in the details.

Sam walked into the room a moment later, shaking his head. "Frank says it's impossible."

"He might be right." Dean glanced over his shoulder. "Take a look."

There were no exterior windows. All the natural light for the interior of the building came from the skylights that were recessed into the flat concrete roofs, and built of six-inch glass sandwiched layers. Each of the fourteen exterior doors had a short hallway that separated it from the interior of the building. During the day, when the museum was open to visitors, the interior doors stood open, the alarms off. Only six of the doors were publicly available exits. They too were open during the museum's operating hours. After hours, every door in the exterior and interior walls was locked, and guarded by an alarm system with a time limit. Access was via retina and fingerprint scan. No cards, no passes, no means of falsifying an entrance without the eyeball and thumb print of a limited number of staff members. Very limited. Only three people had access to the building at night, in fact. No security guards after hours either.

The more he read about it, the less likely it seemed that there was any way they could get in to get the chalice. He wasn't sure if he was glad or disappointed.

"Who the hell builds a place like this for the public?" he muttered, reading the security system report that Frank had done for them.

"Apparently, the city was getting knocked back on its bids for overseas artefacts to be displayed there." Ellie looked up at him. "Too many robberies, too many priceless objet being too easily nicked. The insurance premiums were killing them." She glanced back at the schematic. "So they purpose-built it to house the exhibits."

She sat down at the end of the table, eyes half-closed as she thought about all the requirements and obstacles the job presented. Nothing was impossible, although she agreed with Frank that this particular building would come close.

"We can't take it after hours."

Dean looked at her, recognising the beginning of her elimination process. "Nope. Too many alarms, no means of getting in, no means of getting out." He looked at the report. "While the museum is open to visitors, the chalice and several other pieces are held in a six foot by nine foot display case at the centre of the main hall. There are a dozen security cameras trained on the case and the surrounding area." He picked up the report and sat down, still skimming. "The case itself is made from bulletproof glass one inch thick."

He glanced up at Sam. "Thing must weigh a ton."

Sam nodded, gesturing at the report. He went to the other end of the table and sat down, listening as his brother continued to sum up the contents.

"In addition, there's a laser system from the roof, above the case, which goes off if the glass is moved, cracked, gets too hot or too cold, or is otherwise disturbed." He turned the page. "The museum's been getting between one and three thousand visitors a day for this exhibit."

"So we can't take it at night and we can't take it in the day." Sam looked from Dean to Ellie.

"The exhibit finishes at the end of next week," Ellie said. "Is there a list of the owners of the pieces in there anywhere, Dean?"

"Yeah." He passed her the document, and looked at Sam. "Sounds like a no-go, right?"

Sam nodded. He'd thought Roman's Wisconsin building had been a hard nut. This was a lot worse.

"No." Ellie was staring at the list in her hands. She looked up at him. "It's okay."

"What's okay?"

"I know why Remy needed me to do this." She lifted the list. "I know the owner."

"You do?" Dean's eyebrows climbed in surprise. "Who is it?"

"Father Monserrat." She closed her eyes briefly. "You remember that monastery Pen and I had to get to, for the torc, to transfer Lucifer out of Cas?"

He lifted a shoulder. She'd had to go somewhere in Afghanistan, he hadn't paid particular attention to the details, being more concerned that she'd gone into a country at war and might not make it back out.

"It's his monastery." She put the list back on the table and straightened up. "He's got thousands of objets de l'histoire like this, in the vaults. He regularly sends them out around the world to dozens of museums. They're authenticated and dated at the same time, usually."

"Will he give it to you?" Sam looked at her, disbelief edging his voice.

"Possibly. When he knows what it is." She shrugged. "But otherwise, he'll let me examine it. And then I can make a switch."

"Huh." Dean looked at her. "You got an exact copy of this thing lying around that I haven't noticed?"

"Not yet." She smiled and stood up, stretching. "I'm starving."

* * *

Ellie sat on the long couch, with Rosie on her lap and John snuggled close by her side as she read slowly and clearly from the large picture book she held. Dean sat in the armchair, on the other side of the hearth, watching them.

_Don't ask. You don't want the details, so don't ask_, he told himself firmly. _Just let it go. Let it stay in the past and concentrate on what's in front of you, what you have right here_. He shifted restlessly in the chair. _Seriously. Don't ask. You're gonna regret it if you do. Listen to your instincts. Do. Not. Ask_.

It was good advice, and some part of him knew that. He had no right to question what had happened in the year he'd spent in Cicero, or the year that had followed. He'd given up on her. He knew why she hadn't forced the issue. He knew why she'd left the country. Nothing but pain down that road, so don't ask. He couldn't undo what he'd done. She couldn't undo what she'd done. _Let it be. Let it lie. Let it be forgotten_.

"Time for bed." Ellie closed the book and kissed Rosie on the forehead.

"It's not bedtime yet." John looked affronted. "I'm not tired."

"Yes, you are, you just don't know it yet," Ellie contradicted him, as Rosie wrapped her chubby arms around her neck and she stood up, holding the little girl tightly in the crook of her arm. "Say goodnight to your dad, and let's go."

The little boy wriggled his way off the couch and walked slowly to Dean, dragging his feet the whole way.

"Night, Dad," he said softly. Dean looked at him and put his glass down, leaning forward and picking him up.

"Night, tiger," he said against John's neck, making him giggle in spite of himself. "Do you want me to tuck you in?"

John shook his head, looking down. "No. I like it better when Mommy does it."

Dean felt his brows rise. "You do, huh?"

He looked at Ellie, who was looking at the floor, the corners of her mouth tucked in.

"What does Mom do that I don't?"

"She smells nicer."

Ellie snorted, and turned away fast, heading for the stairs. "Come on, John, I'll race you."

Dean put his son down and watched him race after her. It might have been true, he thought, but he'd have to teach John about tact.

He picked up the glass and finished the contents, walking to the kitchen slowly. _There were some things you're just better off not knowing. This was one of them_. He didn't really want to ask. But at the same time, he did. _None of your business_, he repeated to himself. He didn't have any doubts about how Ellie felt. He put the glass in the sink and leaned on the edge, looking at the moon slowly rising above the Cascades.

Some of the desire to know came from his realisation years ago that he didn't know her as well as she knew him. A lot of more of the pieces of the puzzle of her had fallen into place since then but there were still vast areas that he hadn't asked about, that she hadn't mentioned. It was a puzzle he would be doing until the day he died, he thought sometimes. And there were some things that he would be better off not knowing about. Like this.

He got a beer from the fridge and walked out onto the porch, the moonlight lightly silvering the railings and columns, turning the garden and the valley beyond into a soft-focus landscape of cold beauty.

He didn't hear her footsteps behind him, but he felt her anyway. He turned his head to look at her, as she leaned on the railing beside him.

_Don't ask. Let it be. Leave it alone._

"Ellie?"

She turned to look at him.

"When you were working with Lavesseur …," he hesitated, looking away. "Were you … uh …"

He heard her soft sigh, saw her turn away, from the corner of his eye, as she answered, "Yes. For a few months."

He felt his chest tighten, and looked across the silver and black valley. Now that he had the answer, he didn't know what to do with it. He flicked a sideways glance at her. She was still, leaning on the rail, looking down at the garden which dropped away beneath them.

"Don't ask." She turned to him, the silvery light illuminating one side of her face, washing the colour from it, leaving the other in darkness. "Don't ask me about it."

He watched her walk away from him, going back inside the house, the porch door closing with a small, definitive click.


	52. Chapter 52 Dealing with Shadows

**Chapter 52**

* * *

Sam looked up as he heard a car pull around the front of the house. At the other end of the table, Baraquiel was reading through a file, a faint frown marring the Watcher's otherwise perfect features. Dean sat halfway down the table, reading as well, chin resting on one hand. Ellie was on the phone, pacing up and down the length of the room's long wall.

He heard Trish open the front door, the low murmur of voices in the hallway, then she came in, a tall man following her, long blond hair drawn back from a fine-boned face, the blue eyes moving unhurriedly around the room and stopping on Ellie as she looked up and nodded to him. This would be the witch, then, Sam thought. Remy Lavesseur. Dean's terse description of him hadn't included the tacit familiarity between the man and Ellie.

He watched his brother lift his head, and look at Lavesseur, saw the minute narrowing of his eyes, distrust evident in his face. Remy, by contrast, smiled at Dean, taking a seat at the long table opposite him.

"Does she believe me now?" Lavesseur gestured at the boxes and files on the table.

"To a certain extent," Dean answered slowly. "You could have mentioned that Father Monserrat was the owner of the piece before you left."

The witch spread out his hands. "She gets more involved in things when she can come to the same conclusion on her own."

Again, there was an unspoken but clear familiarity in the way Lavesseur spoke of Ellie, and Sam saw that Dean hadn't missed it either.

"Besides which, she needed to see the proof that the clock is real for herself."

"Yeah, well, that isn't exactly a done deal either." Dean glanced at Sam. "Sam, this is Remy Lavesseur. My brother, Sam."

"The man who started the Apocalypse?" Remy's mouth lift slightly on one side. "And tucked Lucifer back into his cage."

"Among other things." Dean scowled. Sam shook his head slightly, turning to look at Lavesseur.

"Ellie said that you investigated the Illuminati years ago, and couldn't find anything to support their claims?"

"At the time, no." Lavesseur nodded. "I kept looking, after she left. Every myth has some basis in fact, no matter how small. And there was no question about the veracity of the reports of the Templars, or the factions that split off when the Church decided they'd grown too strong."

"So are they the shadows behind global power, as the conspiracists suggest?" Sam asked.

"No." Lavesseur leaned toward him. "They're powerful, but they're not interested in shaping or running the world, lying about the climate or the abundance of oil, or whatever else the tinfoil brigade are blaming them for this week." He smiled slightly. "The group is only interested in knowledge. Knowledge that has been lost in the past, and knowledge of what will come in the future. Frankly, they couldn't care less about the fate of humanity."

"Charming." Dean looked sourly at him.

"Quite." Lavesseur nodded. "The clock, once activated, will give them the power to search for that knowledge unhindered. But that's the least of it, really."

Sam raised a brow. "What else?"

"There are whispers from demons that Hell is looking for the device as well."

"I thought you didn't deal with demons?" Dean asked suspiciously.

"I don't deal with them. I summon them for knowledge." Lavesseur replied. "As do you, I believe," he added pointedly.

"Hell's time is different anyway, why would they care about the device?"

"Perhaps to change the course of action that deprived them of Lucifer?" Lavesseur shrugged. "Who knows the motivations of the Fallen?"

Sam and Dean looked at each other. Ellie's voice cut through the silence in the room.

"That would be fine, Maurice. I'll see you then." She cut the call and walked to the table, looking at Lavesseur.

"Well? Did you get the piece?"

"No." He looked up at her, a fleeting expression of regret passing across his face. "Monique was dead when I got there. They made it look like a random burglary, but the piece was gone."

"I called her, spoke to her yesterday." Ellie sank into the chair beside Dean.

"It wasn't just Monique, Ellie." Remy leaned forward. "Eamon and Fionnuala have gone as well. 'The Hidden Door' was a charred heap of brick and timber when I got there. And Hiroko's apartment had been searched. I don't know if he still lives. There was a little blood there." He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, drawing out a folded white handkerchief and setting it on the table. He unfolded it. "I found these, at 'The Hidden Door', and in Hiroko's."

In the centre of the white cloth, several small fangs gleamed under the overhead light.

"Vampires," Dean said softly.

Ellie stared at the fangs, brows drawn together. "So, it's already started? The Illuminati didn't hire them."

"No." Remy looked at her. "They're not the only ones looking for it now."

She rubbed her fingertips over her forehead. "What were you saying about Hell? Before?"

"I don't know how reliable my sources are," he said. "They said that Asmodeus is looking for the pieces as well."

Sam looked from Ellie to Dean. "So we've got three groups looking to get this thing, not counting us?"

"It seems like it." Ellie caught the edge of her lip between her teeth, thinking.

"But it's useless without all the pieces, right?" Dean looked at her. "And the Illuminati have most of the pieces already." He turned to Lavesseur. "Why would the vamps and demons be looking for the remaining bits now?"

Remy shrugged. "An excellent question. Perhaps they didn't know about it until now? Perhaps they think they'll be able to retrieve the other pieces from the society? I don't know."

Ellie shook her head impatiently. "Doesn't matter. We only have to worry about getting the chalice. Without it, the clock won't work anyway. If we can destroy it, then everyone else's plans will fail."

"I have a way to destroy it." Remy looked at her. "The only way."

"The only way?" Ellie raised an eyebrow at him.

"Heat won't touch it. Or anything else you can try." Remy met her gaze. "There's a spell for destroying magical objects. Without it, you won't be able to do anything to it."

Sam saw Ellie's lips compress slightly, then she nodded. "Alright."

She looked at Dean. "I can fly to New York."

"No." His eyes darkened slightly. "We'll go together."

He looked at Sam, mouth twisting slightly. "More babysitting for you and Trish, that okay?"

"Of course." Sam's brow wrinkled up. "When do you want to go?"

"As soon as we can." Dean glanced at Ellie for confirmation. "It's a two-day drive."

"We'll need to stop in Nebraska, on the way," she said, getting up from the table.

* * *

Dean looked down at the khaki bag on the table. Salt, iron shot, silver shot, silver nitrate, dead man's blood, vervain, butane, shotguns, his auto and Ellie's SIG Sauer, machetes, silver knife, demon knife. He rubbed his jaw, thinking what else they might need.

"You have a pleasant home here."

Lavesseur's voice behind him made him start. He hadn't noticed the witch entering the room.

"Yeah." He turned around, watching the man as he might've watched a rattler, his nerves prickling with unease.

"You've had an interesting life."

"That's one way of putting it."

"Raised from Hell by an angel, I understand?" Lavesseur smiled at the derision in Dean's voice. "And then raised an archangel from the Ninth Level."

Dean looked at him. "Yeah, and you know this … how?"

"Ellie told me about your sojourn in Hell." He shrugged slightly. "And I heard about the rescue of Michael from a Watcher."

"Right." Dean turned back to the bag, zipping it up. Ellie had told this guy about his deal?

"I think I might even have met your father, a long time ago. In Massachusetts."

He looked around, brows drawing together as he tried to remember the various cases his father worked in that state.

"John Winchester? Is that right?" Lavesseur asked. "He seemed to be a good man."

"Yeah, that's right. He was." He didn't know where the witch was going with any of this conversation.

"Oh, yes, by all accounts, an extraordinary man," Lavesseur agreed readily. "A hundred years of torture in Hell, never breaking, and managed to free himself in the end. That's a long shadow to live under."

"You want to quit dancing and get to the friggin' point?" Dean stared at him coldly, pushing away the sudden desire to break the man's nose, purely for the release it would give him.

Lavesseur smiled. "You've acquitted yourself well since you were saved. I can see what she admires in you."

The muscle jumped slightly in the point of Dean's jaw. He'd been expecting this. Not this, exactly, but some variation.

"I loved her too, you know."

Dean said nothing, watching him.

"I thought she felt the same way." A self-deprecating expression twisted his mouth. "It turned out that she was fucking me to forget about you."

Dean felt his stomach knot, recognising the deliberate provocation of the remark at the same time as he registered a sense of relief at the words. He made a conscious effort to relax, release the tension he could feel.

"Heartbreaking," he said. "What's your point?"

Lavesseur shrugged. "Ellie doesn't talk much about the past. You've probably noticed that. I thought you should know the truth of the situation between us, put any doubts you might have had to rest."

"You can relax. She told me about you." Dean inclined his head slightly as he glimpsed the swiftly hidden surprise in the blue eyes.

"Good. Then I suppose we're clear." Lavesseur turned away, and Dean felt a thin thread of satisfaction at having scored off the man.

"Yeah, I suppose we are." He picked up the bag and walked to the door, turning back as he passed the man.

"You better have some place else to go," he said softly. "I don't want you near my family, or in my house again."

The witch's mouth curved into a one-sided smile. "I wouldn't dream of intruding. I do need to see your wife before I leave."

"See me for what?" Ellie stopped in the doorway, looking past Dean.

"Where do you want to rendezvous once you've got the chalice?" Remy looked at her.

"Where can you do this spell or whatever it is?"

"Anywhere. I have everything that's needed; I've been carrying it around with me for months."

She nodded. "White Plains. Noah's old house."

"Fine. I'll see you there." He walked past them. A moment later the Mercedes' engine rumbled into life and they heard the crunch of the gravel under the tyres as it pulled away.

Ellie looked at the lines of tension in Dean's face, in the set of his shoulders. "What happened?"

He glanced down at her. "Nothing. Guy just rubs me the wrong way." He shifted the bag to his other hand. "You ready? We should get going."

"Yeah." She watched him walk past her, heading for the car. _Nothing my ass_, she thought.

* * *

"I disagree." Ellie looked at Dean. "The penalty was hard, but look at what the whole thing cost, in terms of the way people saw baseball and sport in general."

"Joe Jackson played honest. That's all that counts." Dean's bottom lip stuck out mulishly as he stared at the road.

"Maybe he did. Maybe Buck Weaver did too." She sighed. "It doesn't change the fact that their team didn't. Doesn't change the fact that the public has never felt the same about the game since."

He glanced at her, a half-smile lifting one side of his mouth. "You're such an idealist."

She laughed. "Of course I am. You are too. How does anyone become a hunter without being one?"

"Most of the hunters I knew were hard-assed cynics who'd sell their mothers for another box of ammo," he said dryly.

"Well, that's certainly how they try to present themselves to the world," she agreed, smiling. "Funny thing is, they keep going back to get in between innocent people and the monsters … or Hell …or Heaven …"

She saw his lips compress slightly. "But you don't know anyone like that … right?"

"John wants a bike for his birthday," he changed the topic casually, ignoring Ellie's smothered snort.

"You remember how to put one together?"

"I think so." He glanced at her. "You don't think he's too young?"

"He'll be five. It's easier to learn when you're young."

He sighed. "That went pretty quick."

"Yeah, next year he'll be starting school." She looked out the window, feeling the familiar flutters in her stomach about that.

"God, don't say that," he said, his voice rising. "At this rate, it'll be high school and girls and talks about condoms before I'm even close to being ready."

"Better start getting ready," she warned him.

"He asked me about where babies came from day before yesterday," he said, darkly.

"Oh. He asked me about that last week." She caught his double-take, and smiled. "Tamsin has started to show, and he wanted to know why she was getting so fat. I thought I'd covered it pretty well."

"I think that kid likes a second opinion on everything."

"Hmmm … where could he have gotten that from?" she mused.

The Impala's engine was a deep, growly background to their conversation, the slight hiss of the tyres over the seamed concrete and the stereo, playing favourite road songs, combining to overwhelm her slightly with memories of doing this before, many times before. The corner, between the back of the seat and the door, not quite the same as her truck, but still comfortingly familiar. She remembered where her shoulder fit into the narrow space so that she could stretch out her legs in the well below the dash.

"Do you miss Sam riding shotgun with you?" The question came out of nowhere and nothing, really, one of those things that her subconscious might have been mulling over for years before there was an opportunity to ask.

"No. Not really." He frowned. "Seven years we did this, and I was burned out more often than not. Worried. Tired. Half the time on the verge of panicking." He looked at her. "And you're easier on the eye."

She looked at him. "You think I should've stayed, after Raphael came after you."

He was silent for a few moments, his gaze fixed ahead, at the traffic ahead of them, the grey ribbon of road rolling onward. When he answered, his voice was very quiet. "There are a lot of things I would have changed about that time, if I could've, Ellie."

He glanced at her. "Yeah, I wish you hadn't left. Hadn't stayed gone."

She nodded, hunching a little further into the corner. "I wish I hadn't, too."

* * *

He pulled into Rock Springs shortly after ten, finding a motel with a vacancy near the end of the bypass road. It no longer felt weird to be driving the black car, but he had four sets of fake registration papers to go with it, the lessons learned from the leviathans had gone marrow-deep. He got them a room, and parked out the front, and they carried their gear in, automatically reaching for the salt canisters and lining the doors and windows and vents. Hell had been quiet for the last four years; Michael's authority over the archdemon running the underworld was still solid. But if Lavesseur had been right, and demons had joined the search for the pieces of the clock, then they were better off being too well-prepared, than not prepared at all.

He checked over the gear and pulled out the hex bags, setting them around the room as Ellie came out of the bathroom, the small motel towel wrapped around her and not leaving much to the imagination.

"Leave me any hot water?"

"I was two minutes," she huffed at him. "You're the one who spends hours in there."

"I'm bigger than you. More surface area." He pulled off his boots and stripped down, padding into the bathroom.

She had left plenty of hot water. She always did. The comment was a kind of a carry-over from travelling around with his brother. Although it had been Sam's comment, not his.

There were some parts of hunting with Sam that he missed. But there were a lot he didn't. What he'd said, in the car, being worried all the time, feeling burned out and bone-tired all the time, he didn't miss that, not at all. He didn't miss the one-night stands or the waking up in the car, cold and stiff and starving, sometimes hungover so bad that he needed sunglasses until dusk fell. He didn't miss the surprise drop-in visits from the angels, or feeling the emotions bottle-necked inside of him until he had to go and kill something or fight someone or drown it out with whiskey, and eventually even that no longer did the job.

Somewhat ironically, he thought, he and Sam talked more, were closer as individuals now, than they'd been on the road. He'd thought it would be the other way around, that if they weren't hunting together, they'd drift apart, but they had more in common now than they'd had since Dad had died. And it wasn't all twisted up and rent through by their lives and the choices they'd made, by the monsters they faced and the secrets they'd kept from each other.

He could see – now – that he couldn't have shared that stuff with Sam anyway, any more than Sam could have shared his deepest fears and doubts with him. The roles of brothers, as close as they were, meant that they needed to keep believing in each other. He'd needed someone outside to talk to. And so had Sam.

The soap bubbled and foamed over his skin and hair, and the day's grime from travelling on the interstates, windows open and fumes and dust blowing onto them, dissolved and sluiced down the drain at his feet. As the water began to run a little cooler, he turned the taps off and stepped out, grabbing the second towel from the rail, looking at it with the usual momentary disbelief that this … dish-cloth … was supposed to dry an adult body, and started drying.

The room's exhaust fan had no chance of keeping up with the steam, and he rubbed the condensation from the mirror with his forearm, his heart jolting as he saw the figure reflected in it behind him, and spun around.

"Jesus, Cas!" He leaned back against the edge of the sink. "Can't you knock, or something?"

"Sorry." Castiel was still wearing his vessel, Jimmy Novak's trench coat clean and new-looking now.

"You couldn't have caught up with Ellie until I was done in here?" He found himself getting irritated as his heartbeat returned to a more normal rhythm.

"Ellie was in a state of … undress … when I arrived. I thought you would be less likely to worry about that."

Dean looked at the discomfort on the angel's face and sighed. "Alright. Fine. Give me a sec."

He rewrapped the towel around his hips and opened the bathroom door, sticking his head out to look around. Ellie was in bed, demurely covered to her neck by the covers, reading one of the files of Lavesseur's that they'd brought with them. She looked up.

"Cas is here, entertain him for a minute, would you?" His eyes pleaded. She smiled and nodded and he stepped back, opening the door wide for the angel to go through.

"I'll be out in one minute," he promised, shutting the door firmly behind Castiel.

He _really_ didn't miss the surprise drop-in visits from angels, he thought, grabbing his toothbrush and squirting the paste onto the brush. Cas had visited from time to time, but not like this. He hadn't done this for years. He brushed furiously and spat out the toothpaste, turning the tap on and sticking his mouth under the running water to rinse. When his mouth was clear, he lifted his head, looking at his reflection as turned off the tap.

The man who looked back at him from the mirror was a little older, a few lines showing around the eyes and mouth now, tall and broad, heavily muscled from the years of training they'd kept up with, over a dozen scars, large and small, crisscrossing his chest, and stomach, shoulders and arms. The big hand-print from the angel waiting in the next room was gone. Just as well, that was hard to explain, that one. His eyes had changed the most, he thought. They were … calm now. Older, wiser, maybe, but definitely without the worry he remembered clearly from so many motel bathroom mirrors.

He opened the door, walked to the edge of the bed and sat down, looking expectantly at the angel.

"Okay, what?"

Castiel looked from him to Ellie and back. "Ah, I heard that you were looking for a … for an object of great interest to Heaven."

Dean turned his head to look at Ellie. "Really? You guys are after it too?"

"I told you." Ellie leaned back against the pillows smugly.

"Yeah." Dean looked back at Castiel. "What do you want with it?"

"To keep it safe, of course. Out of the reach of those who might wish to use it for nefarious purposes."

"Oh, nefarious purposes," he repeated looking down. "Come on, Cas, you'll have to do better than that."

"I don't know why – exactly – Michael wants it. I could probably speculate but that's all it would be," Castiel said shortly.

"You guys can already bend time, what's it to you?" Dean's eyes narrowed slightly.

"We can manipulate it a little, Dean. This device, it can play with time in the same way God can." Castiel looked away. "When will you acquire it?"

"It's in New York, we'll meet the owner of the piece there," Ellie said, ignoring Dean's slight twitch beside her. "Cas, this is one piece of a dozen needed to build the device."

"Yes, I am aware of that," Castiel said stiffly.

"You know that you boys have to get in line for the other pieces?" Dean shifted along the bed until he was leaning against the pillows next to Ellie. "Lotta contenders for this piece of junk."

They both saw the fractional widening of the angel's eyes. "I – I – no, I didn't realise there were other interested parties, aside from the Illuminati, that is. Who else is after the pieces?"

"Demons," Dean said, glancing sideways at Ellie. She nodded.

"And we think the Alpha vampire has some interest in it as well," she added helpfully.

Now, Castiel looked flustered. "That's very interesting information."

"Just so you know," Dean said, smiling a little. "We're not playing penny ante anymore."

"The stakes seem to get higher every time we turn around," Ellie agreed, closing the file beside her and stretching across the bed to set it on the nightstand.

"You be sure to tell Michael that he might need to bring his big guns to any showdown he's thinking of."

"Yes, I will."

"And Cas?" Ellie looked at him, the humour gone from her eyes. "Watch your back. It wouldn't be the first time you were left out of the loop, would it?"

The sound of beating wings filled the room for a second and faded, the angel gone.

Dean's mouth twisted slightly. "Now what kind of fourth century mathematician can build something that has the same power as God?"

"Good question." Ellie looked at him thoughtfully. "We might have to dig a little deeper."

"Cas look worried to you?" He pulled off the towel, sliding beneath the covers and rolling over onto his side to face her.

"Panic-stricken, actually. I don't think Michael told him anything."

He sighed, running his hand up the outside of her thigh and over her hip. "Are we going to worry about this now?"

"Not unless you really want to." She smiled lazily at him, eyelids lowering a little.

"Nah, I'm good." He leaned toward her and kissed her, his arm curling around her to pull her closer.

She almost anticipated him, moving and turning with each caress, each kiss, the two of them in a slow-motion dance that they both knew somehow without needing to talk about it. Her skin was silken and warm and soft, under his lips, his hands, the smell and taste of her charging his nerve ends and building his arousal, until he couldn't take the ache anymore, the need to be inside her overwhelming everything else. He looked into her eyes, huge and dark with the same desire, felt her hands slip over his body, and that first moment, of fiery heat and velvet softness, sent a shudder through both of them, his head dropping to her shoulder, her arms wrapping around him as she arched up under him, driving him inside deeply.

No one had told him how different it felt when mind, body and soul were all connected. Sex was sex, it felt unbelievably good and that's all there was to it, he'd thought, for years. Sam might have known this, but a conversation with his brother about the emotional aspects of sex was out of the question. His father could have told him, but aside from the usual admonitions about protection, he hadn't ever gone into the way love changed everything. The way he felt about her, the way she felt about him, both amplified every physical sensation in a way he couldn't really understand, but couldn't help but feel, a yearning almost, to be deeper, to be closer. And the pleasure with every touch, every kiss, every deep stroke, was multiplied, spreading out through his body, filling his veins with fire, dragging groans from him and short, wordless gasps from her. Inside, he could feel her begin to hum around him, and his breath caught, snagged somewhere between his chest and throat. _Not yet, not yet_. The thought beat at him as he moved faster, and her body began to tighten and throb insistently. _Not yet, a few more seconds_. She arched up again, and her muscles gripped him, rippling up him, and there was no more time because every muscle and tendon in his body was contracting, and he was rushing, racing, _rocketing_ to the end.

Ellie's hips bucked against his, and he found her lips with his own, the kiss searingly intense. Just sex. _Not just sex_. He didn't know what it was that happened when they were together like this. Of the millions of things that made up their relationship, of all the feelings and the comforts and the shared memories and the ways in which they meshed together, he felt that this shouldn't have been as important as it was, but at the same time it felt as if it were the core, for everything else.

He shifted his weight onto his elbows, holding himself above her, looking down at her face, her pupils still widely dilated, her skin glowing.

"Is it just me, or are we getting … better … at this?"

She smiled and pushed a strand of damp hair from her cheek. "It's not just you. I don't know if we're getting better, or if we're getting more attuned, but … there's nothing like this," she gestured at the bed, at them, "in my experience."

He bent to kiss her. "Mine either."

"That's saying something." The corner of her mouth lifted with the gentle dig.

"Hey, I was in demand," he protested, lifting his head.

"You still are." She slid her arms around his neck, pulling him down, wanting his weight on her, skin to skin, along the length of their bodies.

"I'm gonna crush you." He tried to keep some on his elbow.

"No, you're not." She brushed his lips with hers. "I'm not that fragile."

* * *

He couldn't hear her breathing, but he could feel the soft whisper of her breath on his skin, where her cheek lay against the hard muscle of his chest. She was sleeping, lightly right now, he thought, but drifting deeper.

He thought of what Lavesseur had said to him. The images still had the power to bite at him, to eat at him, if he let them in. He tried not to think of how it had been for her, seeing him with someone else and driven out of the country, into a loveless relationship, trying to forget about what they'd had, what she felt. He'd felt it too. Cicero had not given him what he'd wanted. And he'd tried to make it work. Tried to feel something more than care, affection. He hadn't succeeded. He knew she hadn't either.

The witch hadn't lied. He had loved her, and Dean thought that he was still in love with her, despite the fact that he must have known it would never be reciprocated. Was that going to be a problem? There were a few really potent emotions that could drive people to do things. Greed was one. And fear. And love was another. The frisson of unease trickled down his spine, creating an involuntary shiver.

They would get the clock piece. And destroy it. And that would be the end of it, he hoped. He didn't trust the witch, and he wanted to keep his family as far from Lavesseur as he could. He didn't think the man was so deluded that he'd try to take Ellie under duress, but hey, he'd seen stranger things. A lot stranger things. And the prickle of foreboding hadn't left.

Heaven wanted the piece. Hell too, by the sounds of it. And the vampires. He wondered who else would be throwing their hat in the ring.

He felt a shiver of icy fear sweep down him at the sudden realisation that if any of the factions got their hands on the entire clock, and activated it, and actually changed the timelines … there was a good possibility that his life, this life, that he'd fought and bled and struggled for could be wiped out in a second. He looked down at Ellie's face, smooth and peaceful in sleep, his arm tightening around her involuntarily. They would just have to make sure that no one else got their hands on it. That it was destroyed. They would have to, because he couldn't face not having her with him, not having their life together.


	53. Chapter 53 A Little Hot Blood

**Chapter 53**

* * *

Dean stood behind Ellie, looking around the dark alley with its overfull dumpsters and trash strewn along the sides of the buildings. A streetlight illuminated one end, but the other was dark, the light broken or burned out. Good place to get mugged, he thought absently.

He turned his head at the sounds of bolts and locks being turned and withdrawn from the other side of the thick steel door in front of them. Ellie's network of friends and acquaintances was eclectic, to say the least. Six months ago, they'd been sitting on a marble patio overlooking San Francisco's bay, drinking five-hundred-dollar-a-bottle champagne with an antique dealer who specialised in rare occult objects, another long-time friend. He could hardly wait to meet the guy who lived here.

The door opened an inch, revealing a sliver of face, old and wrinkled and bisected by the heavy, black frame of cheap bifocals. The single eye he could see, magnified by the lenses, was a watery blue, and shifted from side to side suspiciously before returning to Ellie.

"Always with you is rush job." The voice was strong and deep, the accent thick, something Eastern European.

The door opened wider and Ellie walked through it, stopping a little past and turning back. Dean followed her in and glanced at the short figure standing half behind the door as he passed. He'd thought it was a man, but the long, flowered apron and dark skirt beneath made him think again. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder, her frame was bent and hunched slightly, her skin was pale, wrinkled like an apple left to dry in the sun, the black-framed glasses overwhelming the features, magnifying the pale blue eyes.

"Who is this man?" The woman looked up him, twisting her head slightly.

"Kasha, this is my husband, Dean Winchester." Ellie glanced at Dean. "Dean, this is Kasha Verestyuk."

Kasha nodded abruptly. "Winchester. Yes, I know that name."

Dean felt his eyebrows rise, looking at Ellie.

"John Winchester." The old woman looked at him. "Your father, yes? You have something of the look of him."

She turned to Ellie. "So. You do not have time to visit an old friend until you need something?"

"I'm sorry, Kasha." Ellie stepped forward and hugged her. "A lot has been happening."

"Pffft." Kasha looked at her. "Yes, you bring your children next time."

Ellie smiled and nodded, moving aside as Kasha walked to the stairs. "Have you had enough time to finish the piece?"

Kasha began to climb, one hand gripping the banister, the other gesturing. "Yes. It was not an easy task. You didn't send enough detail."

Ellie glanced at Dean and followed her up the stairs.

"You are very lucky that I have seen that piece myself." Kasha continued, her heavy breathing punctuating the words. Behind them, Dean started to wonder if she would make it to the top.

"You have?" Ellie asked, pausing on the step. "Where? When?"

Kasha stopped as well, twisting around to look down at her, her mouth drawn up to one side in a dry half-smile. "None of your business."

She continued up the next flight, and stopped on the landing briefly, her hand resting against her chest, then walked down the narrow hall to the apartment door at the end.

It was another steel door, Dean noticed, with eight locks, including a brace and iron bar in the centre. The old woman was very serious about keeping people out of her business, he thought.

The apartment smelled of cabbage. It was the first thing he noticed. The second thing was that it was dark. They walked along the shadowy hall and came to a small sitting room, lit by a single lamp. On a small table, close by the lamp, a polished metal chalice sat, its intricate chasings and engravings sharp and clear.

"This piece … what do you know about it, _krykhitka_?" Kasha stopped next to the table, extending a fingertip and touching the chalice lightly.

"Not much." Ellie crouched beside the table, looking carefully at the detailed designs on the piece. "Designed and created by a Persian mathematician in the fourth century, the bottom is supposedly a part of the Millennium Clock." She looked up at Kasha. "The Templars found it in the eleventh century and from there the history is vague, or non-existent."

Kasha turned away, walking into the small alcove kitchen and turning the stove off. She picked up the delicate samovar that had been boiling over the heat, and filled a teapot, setting it onto a tray with three cups and carrying the tray to the low table between the small, ornately carved loveseat and the two matching armchairs.

"Sit." It wasn't a request and Ellie took a seat on the loveseat. Dean looked at the small chairs, and sat gingerly on the edge of one.

"It was not a Persian who designed and built the chalice," Kasha said quietly, lifting the lid of the pot and nodding to herself. "The mathematician was from China. And the original purpose of the piece was not the clock."

Ellie exchanged a look with Dean, Kasha looked up and smiled. "There are still many things you do not know, Elena."

"You don't have to remind me of that," Ellie said wryly.

"Look at the base." Kasha gestured to the chalice. "It was added after the piece was first made. The workmanship is extraordinary, but it is still obvious."

She poured the thick dark tea into the cups, adding four cubes of sugar to each.

"The original chalice was made for a ritual. An old ritual. Perhaps before Alexander's time." She stirred the sugar absently. "The instructions – the method – is inscribed around the rim."

Ellie picked up the chalice and tilted the rim toward the light. There were fine markings around the rim, so fine and faint that they were almost unreadable. She didn't recognise the writing.

"It's an ancient form of Chinese hanzi. Before the characters that we know today were developed." Kasha cleared her throat and looked pointedly at the tea. Ellie put the chalice back on the table and picked up a cup, passing it to Dean, then taking her own.

"The ritual is for the resurrection of a soul from Hell." Kasha sipped her tea.

"From Hell?" Dean looked from the old woman to Ellie. "Hell, Hell?"

"Lucifer fell a little under two thousands years before Christ," Ellie said. "He did not repent after the first thousand years. Hell has been around for awhile." She looked at Kasha. "Did the use of the chalice for its original purpose mean that it couldn't be used for the clock?"

"No. The pieces can be separated without affecting either function." Kasha looked at the chalice. "The metal of the original was supposed to be from a fallen star, a meteorite. Such metal is not very difficult to come by, but this replica will not function for either use." She looked back to Ellie. "Is it enough?"

"It's perfect." Ellie drank her tea. "Kasha, how do you know about this piece?"

Kasha smiled a little. "Yure and I broke into the Illuminati's headquarters, years ago, long before you were born. The chalice was there at the time, although I do not know when it was stolen or how it ended up with Father Monserrat." She laughed a little at the sight of Ellie's raised brows.

"We were young once too, you know." Her face smoothed out, her eyes warm with the memories of those days. "The chalice was the only piece of the clock that the Illuminati held back then. The other pieces were scattered. We were actually after some documents, and the chalice was mentioned in them, both of its purposes. Neither of us had any interest in a treasure hunt for the clock."

"But you had a good look at the original?"

"Oh yes, part of the business." She finished her tea and set the cup down on the tray. "When I read the engraving, I started to look into it a little, just in between jobs. I couldn't find out if the maker had created for himself or as a commission for another person. It is the blackest of black magic, that ritual."

Ellie nodded. "We have a spell available for destroying the chalice."

Kasha's head inclined slightly as she looked at Ellie. "Do you?"

Dean caught the sharpness in the old woman's words, saw that Ellie had as well.

"We were told that the chalice couldn't be destroyed any other way," he said slowly.

Kasha glanced at him. "It is possible that it cannot."

"Can a spell destroy it?" Ellie looked at her.

"That would depend on the spell." Kasha shrugged. "And the strength of the witch using it."

She stood, and Ellie rose as well. "He treats you well, this husband of yours?"

"Would I still be with him if he didn't?" Ellie's lips curved into a slight smile.

Kasha looked Dean up and down for a moment, and Ellie's mouth tucked in at the corners at his obvious discomfort.

"He seems alright. He is nice to look at, anyway." She turned away. "It is late, and I am tired, Elena. Do not leave it so long before you come and see me again."

"I won't." She picked up the chalice, taking a black silk bag from her backpack, and slipping it inside.

Dean followed Ellie out of the small apartment, mulling over what they'd seen and heard there. What was Lavesseur playing at, he wondered. The man was a witch, he had to have to known about the ritual, didn't he?

When they came onto the street, he glanced at Ellie. "So does Lavesseur know about this resurrection ritual?"

"I don't know." Ellie hunched against the late evening chill. "There was nothing about that in any of the research he'd done."

"He's a witch, aren't they supposed to know about all that stuff?" Dean's voice was edged with suspicion. "If the old lady knew about it, the information must be available somewhere."

"Maybe. Kasha is in a class of her own when it comes to ferreting out ancient secrets, though."

"Did you get the feeling she didn't think much of the spell for destroying it?"

"I did indeed." Ellie sighed. "But she didn't say that one didn't exist."

"No."

They walked along the dark, empty streets, both watching the shadows. What they carried now wasn't the prize, but that didn't mean that they weren't targeted, by one faction or another.

* * *

_**Manhattan, New York**_

Ellie looked at the fast-growing Manhattan skyline as they drove through Newark. The museum was on West Twenty Fifth Street in lower Chelsea, and they would be meeting Father Monserrat late this afternoon, in the West Village. They'd driven non-stop from Omaha, taking three-hour shifts at the wheel and sleeping. She wasn't sure what to think about the revelation of the chalice's first, older purpose. Did Remy know about it? Why hadn't he mentioned it, if that was the case? It wasn't exactly a trivial, easily-overlooked detail about the damned thing.

She glanced at Dean, sleeping against the door. He didn't need any more reasons to mistrust the adept, he had plenty. She knew he was curious about the relationship between them. It was a curiosity best left unsatisfied. She hadn't loved the witch, she'd been looking for someone to help her wipe out her memories and feelings, and it hadn't occurred to her that Remy might feel something for her. She hadn't lied to him, or pretended that his feelings were reciprocated, but she still felt the residue of guilt for getting involved with him, for using him. Especially since none of her efforts to forget about her feelings for the man now sleeping next to her had been in the slightest bit successful.

She checked her mirrors and changed lanes, following the signs to the Lincoln Tunnel automatically. As they descended down into the tunnel, Dean stirred, rubbing his hands over his face, and straightening in the seat.

"Where are we?" He looked at the heavy traffic surrounding them.

"Lincoln Tunnel." Ellie check the rearview mirror and changed to the exit lane for Twelfth Avenue. "We'll be in the West Village in a few minutes."

"What time's the meeting with the padre?" He yawned widely.

"Not until five." She glanced at him. "There's an apartment we can use to freshen up, not far from the restaurant."

"Another friend?" he asked, hearing the very faint barb and grimacing. "Sorry, that came out –"

"It's alright." She took the exit and slowed down as they came onto the street. She didn't want to fight. In her peripheral vision, she saw him turn his head, looking out the window at the Hudson River. She turned left onto Perry Street, and crawled along with the traffic until they'd crossed Hudson.

The building was smaller than the ones surrounding it, and miraculously there was a gap between the parked cars in front of it. She backed the car in and let out a soft exhale, turning off the engine and opening the door. The street was quiet and leafy, the buildings along this section a mix of old red brick and modern concrete. Dean got out and pulled their duffles from the back seat, as Ellie locked the car and went to the trunk. The gear bag came everywhere with them now.

The keys were hidden behind a well-concealed loose brick in the steps leading up to the building's entrance. It was a friend's place. Stephen spent at least part of the year in the Caribbean and she was one of a few who had been given the key's location and the codes for the alarms. The apartment was well-protected. Stephen Hollis was an academic who researched and wrote papers on the occult, tenured at Columbia for the last ten years. His field work involved pretty much everything that a hunter faced, and he was as proficient in protection as any hunter she'd ever met.

They climbed the stairs and Ellie unlocked the apartment door. The place was spacious, mostly open plan, the old-fashioned timber-framed sash windows that reached almost ceiling to floor, letting in light and bringing out the rich, jewelled colours of the rugs that covered the floor, the tapestries on the walls and the warm, dark golden timber that most of the furniture was constructed of.

They dropped the bags and pulled out the salt, running the lines along the door, the window sills, the vents.

"Who lives here?" Dean looked around when they'd finished.

"Stephen Hollis. He's a professor at Columbia, but he's only there part-time, he spends quite a lot of the year on research trips." Ellie carried the bags to the spare bedroom, dumping them at the end of the bed.

"Huh." Dean followed her along the narrow, dark hall, blinking when he turned into the bedroom, the curtains drawn back and the big windows filling the room with bright sunshine.

"All right." She sat down on the bed. "Ask, Dean. Whatever you want to know."

He looked at her in surprise, then slowly walked to the bed and sat down next to her.

"Why don't you want to talk about Lavesseur?" He hadn't planned on asking that, and he glanced away, expecting irritation or frustration from her. It wasn't so much that she'd been with someone else, he'd realised, but that she wouldn't talk about it.

She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap, unsurprised at the question. "Because I used him. And he got hurt by the time we spent together."

Dean looked at her, understanding dawning. "You feel guilty? I thought you didn't do guilt?"

"A little. There's nothing I can do for him, nothing I can say to make that disappear." She lifted her hand in a small, vague gesture. "I didn't pretend to love him, I told him what the story was, but still, he felt more than I did."

"You can't help what someone else feels," he offered, tentatively.

"No." She closed her eyes. "But I could have done something about it earlier, before he got so involved."

Dean thought about Lisa. At the time, he'd thought he loved her. It hadn't made any difference to her pain when he'd left. Now at least, neither she nor Ben had the memories of his time with them, of their love or longing or loss. For the first time, he felt a fragment of sympathy for the man. It was too easy to imagine how it would've felt.

"Any other exes I should know about?" he asked, trying to keep the question light.

She shook her head, and stood up. "I'm going to have a shower."

He watched her walk out of the room, hearing a door down the hall open and close again. Another puzzle piece revealed, he thought. But it was one that raised as many questions as it answered. He was a little surprised by the fact that she still cared that she'd hurt the guy. And yet, he wasn't. She didn't like unfinished business, didn't like leaving things half-done, especially things she couldn't fix, couldn't make right.

* * *

They left the building at four forty-five, walking to the small village restaurant as dusk fell. Ellie had been subdued since their conversation – not exactly brooding and pensive, Dean thought of Chuck's description of his brother – but distracted with her thoughts. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to ask about it or not, given that it had been his curiosity that had brought it on.

They walked into the place at five minutes to five o'clock, and after a quick glance around, Ellie walked straight to the bar, heading for the grey-haired in a simple black suit who was sitting there alone. The man saw her and slid off his seat, a broad smile seaming the tanned face, making the dark eyes gleam.

"Eleanor." He spread his arms and she went into them, returning the hug, whatever had been bothering her gone now. Dean came up behind and waited, his gaze meeting the monk's over his wife's head.

Father Monserrat released Ellie and smiled at Dean. "You must be the reason Eleanor smiles more frequently now."

Dean glanced at Ellie, unsure of how to respond to that. "Uh, well, I hope so."

"Frances Monserrat." Father Monserrat held his hand out, and Dean took it, feeling the strength in the long fingers, the muscled forearm.

"Dean Winchester."

"Ah. Winchester." Father Monserrat gestured to the bar seats. "A name destined to be remembered in history."

Dean sat down on the other side of Ellie, one eyebrow lifted. "I doubt it."

"Well, not all histories, of course." The old man winked, the small gesture so fast that Dean wasn't sure he'd seen it. "But the ones that are important."

He turned to Ellie. "Now, your business here is the chalice, is it not?"

Ellie blinked at him, and he laughed softly. "My dear, do you think I could have had the piece for so long and not have discovered what it truly was?" He reached for her hand. "Do you have a replica? Something I can put in its place, good enough to fool the authentication?"

Ellie frowned. "I thought it had already been authenticated?"

"There were delays." He shrugged. "Some cock-up at the museum."

They both ignored Dean's coughing fit behind them, a result of his beer going down the wrong way at the monk's prosaic words.

"I'm not a hundred percent sure about authentication." She moistened her lips slightly. "Kasha did the replica for me."

"She's still alive?" Father Monserrat's bushy grey-threaded brows rose at the idea. "Tell me she's not still living in that cesspit in Omaha?"

"Can't do that." Ellie smiled. "She's lonely. If you had the time, she would love a visit."

The monk nodded thoughtfully. "If Kasha did the replica, it will stand up to the authentication."

"How did you find out about the chalice?" she asked, looking at him curiously. "And when did the monastery get the piece?"

Father Monserrat stilled as a waitress came up behind him. "Your table is ready, sir."

He swivelled around, smiling at the young woman. "I hope it's not an inconvenience, mademoiselle, but my dining companion has brought another guest, and he finds bright light and noise very disturbing. Would it be possible to change our table for one of the back booths?"

Dean looked at the waitress, his eyes wide, then narrowing abruptly into a squint. He could see the sudden tension in Ellie's shoulders, as she struggled not to laugh.

"That shouldn't be a problem, sir." She turned around and they could see the faint colour rising in her cheeks as she led them through the tables in the centre of the room to a back wall, the lighting dimmer and a wall separating them from the main part of the restaurant.

"You know, a little warning would be nice." Dean slid along the banquette after Ellie.

"You were fine," Father Monserrat said approvingly. "This will give us a little more privacy at least."

The waitress returned a moment later with water glasses and menus. The restaurant was French, and Dean looked down at the dishes, almost indecipherable in the thin, spidery script, his lip curling slightly. Ellie glanced sideways at him.

"Beef, chicken or fish?"

"Beef." He looked down as she tapped a dish. _Steak au Poivre_.

"Pepper steak with a brandy cream sauce. You'll like it."

When their orders had been taken, Father Monserrat looked at them. "It came before my time, about three hundred years before, actually. From the records, it was left, wrapped, at the monastery wall with a message to put it into the vaults, telling no one of its existence. When I came to the monastery, it had been forgotten, just another relic in the dusty depths of the furthest vaults, the records regarding likewise stored away and unseen for over a hundred years."

He sipped his water. "I was relatively young and incurably curious and no inventory of the vaults had ever been made, so I spent many years doing just that. There were a number of surprising objet in there, but none were as surprising as the chalice." He looked at Ellie. "Did Kasha tell you of its original purpose?"

"Yes." Ellie shook her head. "Do the Illuminati know about that?"

"I doubt it." The monk shrugged. "They seem only interested in the segment of the clock."

"Kasha said that the chalice was mentioned in their documents," she said slowly.

"If their record-keepers are anything like ours, it may not have been discovered, not unless they have an enthusiastic youngster working in the documents."

The comment caught at something in Ellie's memories. She stared at the table top, trying to force the connection out.

"What is it?" Father Monserrat was watching her closely. She shook her head.

"I don't know. Something about what you said rang a bell, but I don't have it, I don't know what it's in relation to."

"Let it be. It will come."

She looked up at him, smiling ruefully. "I thought I was going to have to convince you of the importance of the original piece, or worse, make a switch while you were distracted."

"Such disarming honesty, Eleanor." He laughed. "No. For months now, there have been rumours about the Illuminati's hunting for the clock pieces. I knew that, sooner or later, the trail would lead to me." He lifted a shoulder slightly. "It was why I brought the piece to America, for the exhibit. The museum was the most secure place I could think of."

"When can we do the switch?" Dean looked up as their plates arrived; the thick rib-eye steak surrounded by a delicate whipped potato and fresh, sautéed vegetables. It smelled good, he had to admit.

"Tomorrow morning. The authentication will be at ten. I will meet you at the museum at nine, with passes for the preservation rooms. Do you have a means of destroying it?"

"Possibly." Ellie glanced at Dean. "A spell."

Father Monserrat nodded. "I've heard of such things. To break apart the very fabric of the object." He speared a tender, seared scallop, lifting it from his plate. "And the research I conducted into the origins of that chalice suggests that normal means of destruction will not work on it."

Ellie sighed, looking down at her food. "Yeah. That seems to be the consensus."

* * *

They parted after midnight, on the street outside the restaurant.

"It was a great pleasure to finally meet you, Dean," Father Monserrat said warmly, with a sideways glance at Ellie. "She was not so calm, not so happy, when I first met her."

Dean smiled slightly. "She has her moments, even now."

"I'm sure." The priest turned to Ellie and hugged her tightly. "Be careful, ma chèrie, there are many forces circling this thing. I will feel happy only when you have called to tell me it is gone."

She kissed him lightly on both cheeks. "That makes two of us, Father."

They stood and watched as he hailed a taxi and got in, then started to walk slowly back to the apartment.

"Okay, him I like." Dean offered his arm to Ellie, and she slipped hers through, walking close by him. She smiled.

"What's not to like?"

"He doesn't seem like your ordinary Benedictine monk," he said, looking down at her.

"No more than Jim Murphy was your ordinary priest, no," she agreed lightly. "He – he's had a somewhat chequered history. Not always called to religion, one might say."

"Is that where he got his contacts?"

"Mostly, yeah." She nodded. "He, uh, used to spend a fair amount of time working for the Vatican."

Dean slowed and turned to look at her. "The Vatican?"

"The one and the same." She tugged at his arm to get him moving again. "There are some fairly odd jobs there, I understand."

"And how'd you meet him?" he asked her curiously.

"I met him in 2008. I needed information about getting into Hell, and the monastery's library was supposed to have contained a lot of forbidden texts."

Getting into Hell to get him out, he thought briefly. The padre had given him his own version of Ellie's extended stay at the monastery, while she'd been in the restroom. Left up to her, she would probably never mention the four months it had taken her to get there, from Kashgar in China, on foot and horse, and on her own, avoiding several different armies, guerrillas and militants. She'd arrived, apparently, with two half-healed bullet wounds and a festering infection in one foot, from walking barefoot after she'd worn her boots out. He would ask her about it one day. For the moment, there were too many other things to think about.

"Do we trust Lavesseur?" He stopped when they reached the steps of their building, following her up them.

"It's a good question." She opened the door, punching in the building alarm code on the panel beside the mailboxes. "Not as much as I'd have thought we could."

He closed the door behind them, and walked beside her up the stairs. "What does that mean?"

"I guess I was relying on him not to bring us harm, for old time's sake, if nothing else." She sighed.

The single dark hair was still in place between the door and the jamb, about three inches from the floor. And the lock's face plate was unscratched. It didn't seem that they'd had visitors while they'd been out. Ellie unlocked the door and did up all the locks as she closed it again. Dean checked the salt lines, moving around the apartment automatically.

Well, they'd know tomorrow, he thought. One way or the other. He'd packed jessamine along with the other herbs they needed. And the strongest spell-cords Tamsin had been able to make for them. If the man did have any ideas of keeping the chalice to himself, at least they would be able to take care of it there and then.

* * *

The cross-town traffic was appalling, and the black car crawled along Seventh Avenue, bumper to bumper with what looked like several thousand other cars, taxis, trucks, buses and cyclists. Dean's fingers tapped a harsh staccato rhythm on the wheel.

"Next time we'll just leave at five, and spend the four hours having a long, leisurely breakfast in one of the diners," he growled softly.

"Let's hope that there isn't a next time," Ellie countered, glancing at her watch. "We're okay." _If we can find a parking slot somewhere around the museum_, she thought.

They finally reached the cross street at a quarter to nine, and Dean turned right, braking as a station wagon pulled out from the kerb ahead of him. He accelerated, almost sliding the Impala into the newly vacated slot and let out a gusty exhale of relief.

"What's the attraction of living here, again?" he muttered to no one in particular as they got out and he locked the car. The museum was across the narrow street and as they climbed the steps, Ellie saw Father Monserrat waiting with the security guard, the monk now dressed in the long dark brown robe of his calling. At his waist, the robe was belted by an ivory and dark-coloured wood rosary, the beads polished, held by a large, simple wooden cross.

"I'm surprised you made it on time."

"So're we," Dean said sourly, taking the visitor's pass the guard handed him, and following the monk into the building. Inside, he glanced around, noting all the difficulties they'd already seen with trying to break into the place. Just as well they didn't need to, he thought, with a feeling of relief.

The preservation rooms were on the second lowest basement level. The elevator took them down quietly and they felt the change in air pressure as they passed through the first airlock, the double-pressurised rooms with their multiple filters making the air tasteless and dry to breathe.

The chalice had been moved to a room at the far end of the corridor, and he stared at it through the thick glass walls as they got closer. How could anyone human build something that had that much power, he wondered. Or had the Chinese mathematician received a little divine help? It no longer seemed unlikely to him. God might not assist when He was needed, but He seemed to be fine with meddling when it suited Him. The thought wasn't a new one, and raised the same amount of irritation as it always had. He took a deep breath, following the padre and Ellie into the room.

Ellie picked it up and pulled the magnifying lamp over to the table, holding the chalice at an angle as she studied the markings engraved on it. Under the glass, she could see the writing that Kasha had found easily, not recognising any of the ideograms but seeing some familiar strokes here and there. Dean stood by the door, watching down the corridor. Father Monserrat was examining the replica.

The lights flickered violently for a moment, two of the bulbs shattering in the room next to theirs, then the power went out.

Dean moved out into the corridor, pulling the long, serrated knife from the leather sheath sewn into his jacket. He turned his head slightly, seeing Ellie bundling the chalice into the black silk bag, and back into her backpack, the monk putting the replica carefully into the case where the original had rested.

In the darkness at the other end of the corridor, shadows stirred and murmured.

Father Monserrat looked at Ellie. "You and Dean have to get out now. There's a service tunnel, at the end of the corridor, it will take you to a separate set of fire stairs to get up to ground level."

She looked at him sharply. "You're coming with us."

"No." He looked at the replica. "I'll stay with the chalice. It will be more believable if there is someone guarding it."

"No."

Dean glanced into the room. "Ellie, we have to go, now."

"I'm not leaving you here." She looked at the old man. "Not on your own."

"It's more important that you do what you came to do, Eleanor." He walked quickly to her, smiling slightly. "I will be fine. I've been in worse battles than this, and my blood can still run hot when it's needed."

"No."

"Dean, get her out of here." He looked past her to the corridor, and as Dean turned, he pushed her away, to the door.

Dean looked at the blackness filling the far end of the hall and reached out, gripping Ellie's wrist, pulling her out. He looked over her head at the monk, his brows drawing together.

Father Monserrat's face was smooth and calm, his eyes filled with a wild light that Dean knew all too well. The man was ready to fight, almost looking forward to it. He hoped that the enthusiasm was matched by equal skill.

"You need a weapon."

The old man grinned suddenly, his hand going to the long wooden cross at his waist. He gripped the two ends and pulled, and the cross separated, the top forming a hilt and cross-guard, the lower half revealing a slender knife blade, the metal a mottled black.

"I'm fine. Get out of here."

Ellie looked down the corridor at the writhing charcoal shadows and back to Father Monserrat, pulling her arm against Dean's grip. "No."

Dean nodded and turned, forcing her away and down to the flush-fitted steel door at the other end.

Behind them, Father Monserrat took a container of sodium thiosulphate from the preservation room's shelving and poured it over the door's threshold and around the chalice's case. It wasn't pure salt, but it would stop the demons from entering for a short time. He backed to the case, the knife was in one hand, the ivory and polished walnut rosary in the other.

As Dean and Ellie reached the door to the fire stairs, the corridor filled with a sibilant roar, and blackness poured down it. Dean wrenched the door open and pushed Ellie through, both glancing back before it closed behind them. They could hear Monserrat's voice, deepening as it increased in volume, from the mellow bass to a thundering basso profundo, the Latin ritual breaking the ranks against him. Black smoke covered the glass walls of the preservation room, swirling from floor to ceiling and filling the corridor in a solid wall. Inside the room, a light began to glow.

"Come on!"

The door closed and Dean started to climb the stairs, Ellie stumbling up behind him. A second later the door shook, the steel booming with the impact against it, echoing up the concrete stairwell like a cannonade. They looked back, seeing the inward bulge, and accelerated up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time. Dean reached the first floor, freezing with his hand on the knob of the exit door. Through it, they could hear shouts and screams, growing louder. He looked at Ellie.

She shook her head. "Keep going up."

They hit the stairs again, just reaching the second floor when the door below flew open, crashing against the wall and the sound of footsteps, a lot of footsteps, filled the stairwell.

"Roof." Ellie gripped the steel railing, swinging herself around the landing corner and up the next flight. Dean nodded, remembering the plans of the street from their reconnaissance, the buildings that surrounded the museum.

They burst through the roof access door as the demons behind them turned onto the final flight. Dean saw the steel pipe, cut-offs from the railings used in the stairwell and grabbed two of them, sliding them across the door through the rectangular door handle and brackets to either side.

"That'll hold them for about thirty seconds," he said, looking around. Ellie nodded, running toward the low parapet that marked the boundaries of the building's roof. On two sides, the museum was flanked by taller buildings, the third side was the street. She ran toward the fourth side, Dean following her.

The door held for fifteen seconds, the clanging, clattering fall of the pipes telling them they had company without the need to look around. Ellie stopped at the edge of the roof, looking at the alley below, the building on the other side, calculating distance, drop, speed, as another part of her mind held the awareness of the slap and thump of boots over the rooftop's asphalt, the demons' approach behind them.

She turned, pulling the long, demon-killing blade from her belt, moving away from Dean, presenting two targets instead of one. Three men, their uniforms marking them as the museum's security guards, their eyes a flat black across the sockets, ran toward them, grinning like maniacs.

They reached Dean first, slowing as they noticed the knife he held. Two of them rushed at him, and the first swung wildly, Dean dropping under the haymaker and driving the blade in under the sternum, angled upwards and into the heart. He gripped the demon's jacket as the body convulsed, filled with a bubbling golden light, swinging it around as a shield against the second demon who'd pulled the guard's gun from its holster and started shooting. The Police Special was a .38 revolver and Dean counted the bullets, dropping the body on the sixth shot, as the demon pulled the trigger again.

It looked down at the empty click, and up again as the wickedly edged blade plunged through the ribcage, and coruscating light reflected from Dean's face.

"Geez, count your bullets, dick. It's a six shooter." he muttered to the body as it fell at his feet. He turned to see Ellie dropping, her leg scything out the demon's legs, springing up and on top of it as it fell, the knife in her hand disappearing into the chest to the hilt.

"That wasn't too bad." He walked to her, extending his hand and pulling her to her feet.

They turned together as a dozen more demon-possessed came out of the roof door.

"Crap."

Ellie started to run toward the demons, and Dean followed uncertainly. At thirty feet from the parapet she turned, gesturing to the roof edge, and accelerated hard. He turned, his eyes widening as he saw what she meant to do, racing after her. _Fuck, this was a bad idea_. The thought flashed through his head as he watched her lengthen her stride, jumping to the top of the low wall, and launching herself out into the space between the buildings. He reached the wall a half a second later, seeing her land and roll on the roof of the building opposite, and jumped, leaning forward as the alley flashed by below him, and the other building's roofline approached. He just cleared the edge, throwing his weight further forward, hitting the roof on his feet and tucking to roll over his shoulder, away from the edge.

He looked back, the first demon reaching the edge and jumping, and falling to the ground three stories below, without the speed and height needed to make it. The rest lined up along the edge of the parapet, staring at them.

"Come on." Ellie ran for the fire escape, vaulting over the railing and onto the metal platform. Dean looked back over his shoulder as he followed, seeing the demons racing back for the roof stairwell. They had maybe two or three minutes' headstart to get down to the car and go, before their pursuers caught up. He jumped down the flights, the metal frame of the fire escape shuddering every time he landed.


	54. Chapter 54 Worse Than Death

**Chapter 54**

* * *

Dean was hyper-aware of how distinctly the Impala stood out in the midst of the hundreds of yellow taxis that surrounded them as they drove up Seventh. He checked the rearview mirror, glancing at Ellie.

"We're kind of conspicuous here."

She nodded. "Cut over to Madison."

He eased the car across the lanes, as Ellie twisted around to watch behind them for anyone who might be doing the same. Dean made the turn, and the wider avenue thinned the traffic a little as they headed north.

"Stay on Madison, we'll take the 87 up to White Plains."

"You don't want to cut our trail?" He braked as the car in front of them slowed.

"I don't think there's much point. We've got the hex bags here. We're as hidden as we can be, unless they've infiltrated traffic control already." She turned back to look at him. "We need to get out of here as fast as we can."

He could hear the tightly-held tension in her voice. "He'll make it, Ellie."

She nodded, looking out the window. "Let's just get out of here, so this hasn't … it wasn't all for nothing."

He looked at the traffic ahead of them, all lanes full, flowing but slowly. Her family had died when she was ten. He knew that. It hadn't occurred to him before, but the network of friends she'd collected over the years since had become a surrogate family, a very select group of people she could trust, could talk to, could gain comfort from. He hoped that the padre would make it. He hadn't seen her this close to the edge before.

It took ten minutes to get down Madison to the bridge across the Harlem River, and then they were on the expressway, the car now just one among thousands, flowing smoothly north and west. He leaned back a little, relaxing, his fingers resting lightly on the wheel.

He turned his head slightly, to look at her. "Ellie …"

She shook her head. "I know you want to help, but I can't. Not now. I can't think about it, can't talk about it." She stared out the window. "I need to keep it away until we've finished the job, okay?"

"Yeah, of course." He knew what she meant. Worrying about the old man now would only weaken her. As soon as the chalice was destroyed, they could go back, and find out, one way or the other.

As they drove on, he began to realise why seeing her like this was making him so uneasy. In all the years he'd known her, she'd been calm, on top of things, her emotions locked down and hidden whenever they'd been working. Now, seeing her stretched out so thin, hunched into the corner between the seat and the door, struggling to keep those walls intact, it occurred to him that she wasn't going to take charge of whatever might happen when they reached their destination and met up with Lavesseur. _So, you'll do it_, he thought to himself. _You can look after her for a change, make sure all the t's are crossed, all the i's are dotted. No big_.

The thought brought a faint smile. It was far from being no big. But he would do it anyway. He knew he could, had known that for a while, the need just hadn't come up until now.

* * *

The city had given way to suburbia. On either side of the expressway, houses were surrounded by gardens and tree-filled parks. He looked at his watch as they passed a sign showing the distance to go. Another ten or fifteen minutes, depending on traffic, he thought.

The house in White Plains looked like an ordinary family home in an ordinary street, Ellie had told him, but it wasn't ordinary. The hunter's equivalent of a safe house, it was highly protected, invisible to almost all supernatural creatures, including the denizens of Heaven and Hell, and well-stocked in everything a hunter on the run could possibly need. It had been the family home of a hunter called Noah Emerson. When the last of his children had left, he'd moved out as well, leaving the house ready for others. Discreet. Inconspicuous. Safe. It would be the ideal place to destroy the chalice.

He pulled into the driveway of 32 Hart Street twelve minutes later. No demons or vampires had followed them from the city. The street was quiet and peaceful in the early afternoon sunshine, too early for kids to have been let out of school yet, most of the houses seemed empty, their occupants either working in the city, or out shopping in the big department store down the road. There was no sign of Lavesseur's ride, and Ellie got out of the car without saying anything about that, pulling her backpack out and shutting the door.

Dean got out and looked around, going to the trunk for their gear. As protected as Ellie had assured him the house was, he didn't like being without the weapons and their own protection.

The key was hidden under a mouldy plastic frog, slightly askew in the large planter by the door. Ellie pulled it out and unlocked the front door, Dean moving past her, salt-loaded shotgun in his hand as he swept the hallway and the two rooms that led off it. Ellie followed him after closing the door, taking the longer-barrelled pump action from him. They came into the kitchen, and both swung their barrels up at the sight of the witch sitting at the table, frozen in the action of stirring his tea.

"Sitting in silence is a good way to get your head blown off," Dean said irritably, uncocking the gun. Ellie stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip.

"We didn't see the Mercedes?"

"I wasn't going to leave it out the front," Remy answered, the faint clink of the spoon against the china loud in the quiet room. "You two have stirred things up unbelievably."

Dean looked at him, setting the shotgun on the table and dumping the gear bag by the door. "How would you know?"

Lavesseur lifted a brow. "It's my business to know what's going on, Winchester. Especially when it involves both angels and demons."

Ellie sighed, setting her pack on the floor and leaning the gun on it. She sat down at the table. "Demons we saw. What are the angels doing?"

"Panicking, mostly." Lavesseur shrugged uncaringly. "Everyone converged on Manhattan this morning – I'm guessing that's when you took the chalice?"

Ellie nodded. "We made a switch."

Dean glanced at her, wondering at the omission in that statement. He sat down in the chair next to her. "It was quite a coincidence that they seemed to know what we were doing."

"I had no idea when or where you would be able to convince the monk to let you get close to the thing, so don't blame me." Lavesseur looked at him, his eyes cold. "I've been here for two days, waiting for you."

"No offence intended." The corner of Dean's mouth was tucked in very slightly.

Lavesseur laughed suddenly. "Alright. You both look like you could use a half-gallon of coffee. I made a pot about half an hour ago." He gestured to the counter. Dean nodded, getting up.

"Are you alright?" Remy asked Ellie quietly. She looked up at him and lifted a shoulder tiredly.

"Yeah, a lot of running and jumping, I'll be fine," she said, her gaze going past him. "Have you heard anything of what the Illuminati are doing? They can't be unaware of the activity this morning."

Remy's lip curled contemptuously. "I doubt they've concerned themselves with it. They seem to think that money will eventually get them the clock pieces – what good it will do them if the activation time comes and goes without it, I have no idea."

Dean turned from the counter, holding two cups of strong, black coffee, in time to see Ellie's brow arch.

"You seem rather bitter about them," she said, taking a cup from Dean as he returned to the table.

"I don't know if they hired the vampire or not, but they definitely hired Monique and knew about Hiroko, Ellie," Remy leaned forward across the table. "And they were killed. So no, I have no love for the Illuminati now."

She drank the hot coffee. "Are you all set up for this spell?"

"In the basement," he confirmed, glancing at her backpack. "You're sure you have the original?"

She smiled as she heard Dean's snort beside her. "Yes. Quite sure."

"That's excellent."

She looked up at the odd tone in his voice, frowning as she realised she was having trouble focussing on his face. She turned her head slowly as she heard the thump of Dean's cup hit the floor, watching him fall in slow-motion from the chair.

"What – wha …" Her fingers released their hold on her cup and her head tipped back, vision disappearing with hearing, and then consciousness.

* * *

Dean woke abruptly, an icepick headache drilling into his brain, nausea roiling in his stomach, his arms and legs cramped and sore. He opened his eyes and stared at the plush interior of a car trunk, smoke grey carpet under him, the taillights glowing red into his face.

_Sonofabitch. _He could feel the bindings on his wrists and around his ankles now.

_Son. _

_Of. _

_A. _

_BITCH_.

Wire, he thought, putting pressure on them. Sonofabitch had drugged the coffee, taken them both as easy as you like. Was Ellie in the car? He hoped so. He was surprised he'd been taken along for the ride, but maybe Lavesseur needed him as leverage. Whatever it was, they would get out of this and take him down.

He took a deep breath, trying to settle his stomach, stretching out his limbs as much as the trunk would allow for. He needed to be ready to fight, as soon as the trunk lid was opened, needed to be able to get the drop on the witch.

_With no spell-cord, no jessamine? What the fuck are you going to do, try and dodge whatever power he has?_ He pushed the thought away. He'd figure it out, he'd figure something out. How long had he been out? It was dark in the trunk, and the taillights were on, so a good bet it had been at least five hours. Which direction? Where was he taking them? He had the chalice, what did he want them for?

_Calm down_, he told himself. _If there's nothing you can do, then switch off your brain and try and get your head and stomach under control._

It was good advice. Hard to take. In the back of his mind a viper's nest of thoughts and fears were churning – about Ellie, and the way the witch felt about her, about the chalice and the resurrection ritual and the clock and all the goddamned unknown factors. He shut it all down, focussing on a single image, an ensiform leaf, bright against a black background. He concentrated on the leaf, seeing the shape, seeing the veins, a lighter green against the rest, seeing the stalk. After a few moments, his heart rate dropped, and his breathing slowed. The headache receded. He lay on the carpet, unmoving, his eyes open, his mind quiet and still.

* * *

Ellie lay still, feeling the cool vinyl floor against her cheek. Her head was pounding, her mouth dry and coated with something that tasted foul, her stomach was giving little heaves. She couldn't hear anything, and the thought immediately rang alarm bells, although she couldn't think why.

Remy had slipped them a Mickey and taken the chalice. The thought was crystal clear. She shut away the recriminations that were hammering at her, opening her eyes. The room was dark and cool. She'd been out at least six hours, she thought, bringing her wrist with the watch up to her face slowly. Nine o'clock. So eight hours, then.

Abruptly she realised she should have been able to hear Dean's breathing. She rolled onto her stomach, levering herself up with her hands, her eyes raking the floor furiously. She was alone.

The sudden movement brought back the nausea and she got to her feet, moving quickly to the sink and retching into it, running the water and rinsing out her mouth when she couldn't bring anything else up. _Flunitrazepam_, she thought. A mild dose, thankfully, most of it would be sitting at the bottom of the coffee pot along with the fine grounds. It wasn't going to help her concentrate. She leaned on the edge of the sink and closed her eyes. His gear bag was where he'd dropped it, by the door. Remy hadn't been interested in it, as he hadn't been interested in her. Why would he take Dean?

_You're not sure that he has_, she thought. _Check the house, first_.

Moving was a nightmare of uncoordinated and heavy limbs and the headache that persisted, making one eye throb in time with her pulse. She closed the eye and walked through the place slowly, checking every room, from basement to attic.

Dean wasn't in the house. She could see the Impala, still sitting in the drive. For whatever reason, Remy had taken him. She could figure out why later, right now she needed to know where.

Her phone had been in the backpack, but she kept a couple of spares in the gear bag, and the lists of names and numbers in her head. After the year spent dodging leviathans, the habit of travelling clean had stuck. She knelt beside the bag and pulled out the prepaid, calling the carrier for Dean's phone. As she waited on hold, she eased herself down onto the floor, leaning back against the wall and closing her eyes. What possible purpose could Remy have had for taking Dean? _Revenge?_ The thought made her stomach leap again, although she couldn't really raise a justification for it. If the adept had been driven by emotion, she was sure he wouldn't have left her here.

She'd known him for almost eleven years. They'd worked together on several occasions, and she'd never had any reason to doubt him, to doubt his allegiances. What had changed? What had changed him? The question brought a sour smile.

"_You told me it was over." His voice had been strained, harsh._

"_It is over." She'd thrown her clothes into the bag, not looking at him. "There's nothing left there."_

"_Then why is it his name you call out in the night?" Remy had demanded, his face twisted in pain as he'd reached for her arm, wrenching her around to face him. "Why is it that you won't look at me when we make love?"_

"_Because I still love him!" She'd pulled away, furious with him for getting that admission out of her, furious with herself for still feeling that way. "No matter what I do, who I'm with, that hasn't changed."_

_The silence should have told her to be more careful. Hell, the conversation should have warned her to be more careful._

"_You were using me," he said, his voice much quieter, the words coming out slowly in dawning recognition. "You were using me to forget about him."_

_He sat on the edge of the bed, staring sightlessly at the peeling paint on the old walls of their apartment._

_She'd turned back to face him. "I'm sorry, Remy. I care about you. And this," she'd gestured around the small room, "wasn't just for revenge –"_

_He looked at her, cutting her off, "Don't lie now, Ellie. Not now. You were trying to drown him out."_

_He stood up. "All those nights, I thought were passion – not passion, just desperation, weren't they?"_

_She looked away. "Remy, we're not really that good together, we fight –"_

"_I love you, Ellie." He'd walked to her and lifted her chin, looked into her face. "I thought … it doesn't matter what I thought. You knew how I felt."_

"_If you do, then you know that I don't have any control over the way I feel."_

_He'd looked at her for a long moment, and dropped his hand, turning away. "Where are you going?"_

"_Home, I think." She'd walked back to the bag._

"_I need your help."_

"_No, you don't." She hadn't looked at him, packing her clothing. "The case is a dead end, Remy. They're not doing anything. I doubt if they even have the records any more."_

"_You're wrong, Ellie." He'd walked around the room restlessly. "What they're showing us is just a front."_

"_If it is, it's a pretty deep one." She'd zipped up the bag and turned back to him, her voice filled with exasperation. "I think you're letting the romance of the fictionalised accounts get to you, Remy. We've been watching them for six months. They're a dead end."_

And then she'd left. A flight out of Rome to New York, another hop to Richmond, and she'd been back in her old apartment in less than twenty-four hours, the time spent in Rome, in that ancient city that was a crowded, cat-infested mix of history and relics, of religion and modernity and splendour and decrepitude, gone. Nothing they'd discovered about the secret society had given her any reason to believe that they were the all-powerful puppet-masters that myth and imagination had made them out to be. She'd told herself that Remy would get over his feelings, without reciprocation, he'd realise that it hadn't been love, just a crush, just a fleeting moment of having someone who'd tried to understand him.

She straightened up against the wall, her eyes widening slightly as she remembered the text message that had come three months after that. He'd started working for them. In their library. Verifying the oldest documents. Kasha's words tumbled over the memory. _We were actually after some documents, and the chalice was mentioned in them, both of its purposes. _And Father Monserrat's: _unless they have an enthusiastic youngster working in the documents._

The customer service assistant came onto the line and she dragged her thoughts back, requesting that the GPS on Dean's phone be turned on.

"Ma'am, that phone is currently located at 32 Hart Street, White Plains, New York."

Ellie sighed. "Thank you."

"Glad to be of assistance. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No, thank you."

"You have a nice day, ma'am."

She hung up and rubbed her forehead. _Kasha_. She needed to talk to Kasha.

* * *

Dean rolled half onto his back as the car began to slow down, listening as the noise of the tyres changed from the smooth hiss over concrete to the rougher rumble of asphalt, and further on, the crunch and popping of gravel. The gravel seemed to go on for several minutes, a long drive, or a rural road, he wondered?

Someplace remote, he thought when the car slowed to a stop and the engine was switched off, the trunk pitch black without the taillights' glow, and the silence surrounding them deep.

The trunk lid opened, and a flashlight beam hit him in the face, forcing him to turn his head away from it, eyes squeezed shut at the brightness after so long in the dark. He felt cool metal pressed against the side of his neck, heard a sharp hiss and felt something stab him.

"Relax, it's just another sedative. Don't want you too aware just yet."

He heard the soft Louisiana drawl close by and tried to turn to his head, the movement heavy, his eyelids closing by themselves. If the witch kept him sedated … the thought disappeared into the blackness that swallowed him.

* * *

She was speeding, hoping that the cops would have something better to do than hang around the highway in the early hours of the morning. The I-80 was almost empty, just the long-haul trucks and a few cars travelling west with her. It would take her a little over twenty hours to get back to Omaha, if she went straight through. The loss of time galled her, but Kasha wouldn't discuss the ritual over the phone.

There was no doubt in her mind that Remy had discovered it, working in the records of the society. Curious, enthusiastic, and driven by his need for more knowledge, he would have spent months going through every document the Illuminati had, looking for verification of the clock's existence … and finding something else. No wonder his research had been so meticulous on the goddamned piece, she thought bitterly. He'd had enough time.

She'd called Sam before she'd left. He was flying in to Omaha tomorrow, but in the meantime, he'd get Frank on finding out absolutely everything about Remy. Sam had filled her in on the news reports from New York about the attack on the museum. Several deaths, but no names. Some of the bodies had been unidentifiable. She'd shunted the thoughts about that away, burying them deep to look at later.

After going to Patrice Gardner Lowell, in Boston, she'd spent years building a fantasy about her upbringing, smoothing over the reality in favour of a more appealing memory of her family. Her aunt had inadvertently helped with that, her dislike of her brother and his wife resulting in few conversations about them in the elegant townhouse in Wellesley. Ellie had spent a lot of time on her own, driven by her need to understand what had happened to her family, by the need to feel that she could deal with it if it ever happened again. She'd begun training at thirteen, her family's money allowing her the freedom to choose her instructors and spend a great deal of her free in private training. Her first test, at just shy of fifteen, had been a confidence-boosting success. The man who'd attempted to assault her had been over six feet and two hundred pounds, and she'd left him unconscious on the street with a broken nose, jaw, arm and several broken ribs.

Despite the rapidly forming independence, of both mind and body, something in her had still needed a family. She hadn't realised, exactly, what she'd been doing, over the years, collecting the friends she had, forming closer relationships with them than had been strictly necessary – or smart, in her line of work. They were all at risk though, no matter how close or distant from the life they were. _When you look into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you_. It was a truism of their world. No one went unchanged. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run to once you were noticed, and you couldn't unknow the knowledge gained, whether you wanted to or not.

She glanced down at the speedometer and eased her foot off the accelerator slightly as she skirted around Cleveland.

Kasha had said that the ritual was to raise a soul from Hell. Which soul could Remy possibly be interested in raising? Or was it just the clock piece he'd wanted? For himself? To sell back to the Illuminati? She shook her head impatiently. Too many unknowns right now. And none of her speculations explained why the witch had taken Dean.

She debated calling on Castiel. The angel had changed, somewhat, since Michael had been raised. It was more than that, she thought with a soft sigh. Castiel had changed since Purgatory had been opened, really. He cared about Dean, and he would do whatever he could to help, but she had her doubts about how far he would go if it was in direct contradiction to Michael's orders. The archangel himself still owed them a debt, both for freeing him from the Cage and providing him with the one weapon that could kill Lucifer for good. Archangels, like humans, had short-lived memories when it came to gratitude, however. Castiel had looked embarrassed when their request to meet with Michael had been summarily dismissed.

No. Castiel would be the ace in the hole, their last desperate chance. She glanced down when her phone rang, picking it up and answering.

"Hey."

"Ellie, Frank's found three residences that Lavesseur owns outright."

"Where?"

"There's a place in New Orleans, in the French Quarter."

She could hear rustling over the line, imagined Sam shuffling through the papers that Frank had printed for him. "No. He's from New Orleans. He won't do this in his own backyard."

"Uh, he owns a brownstone on the Lower East Side of Manhattan."

"Too public. And too close to the museum. Where's the third one?"

"New Hampshire," he said, with more rustlings. "An estate just outside of Jackson."

"That's it." She was sure of it. Private, remote in the White Mountains, big. That would be where he did all his ritual work, she thought. "What else did Frank find?"

Sam snorted. "A lot. I've got an inch of printouts here, and there's more coming."

"Bring it with you. We need all the information we can find."

"Ellie? Didn't you say he followed the Right Hand Path?" Sam sounded worried.

"Yeah."

"Well, he might not be doing that anymore," he said. "Frank's pulled a whole lot of data records, phone, fax, voicemail, email … it looks like he's been corresponding with members of the PLHP for awhile."

Ellie frowned. "They're not exactly on the FBI's most wanted."

"No, but some of the members also belong to another group, who are." Sam's voice broke up a little and Ellie pressed the phone tighter to her ear.

"Which group?"

"The Order of the Nine Angles." A crackle of static override the last word, but Ellie knew the group.

"Sam, you're breaking up." She wondered how meaningful that bit of information was likely to be. "Bring everything to Omaha. I'll see you at the airport in a few hours."

"Yeah." Another hiss cut across his voice. "– and be careful –"

She closed the phone as the call cut out, putting it back on the seat. The Order, originally formed in Britain in the Sixties, had undergone a number of changes over the last fifty years. One thing hadn't changed in their philosophy, she thought, the condoning of human sacrifice and what they referred to as the culling of the race.

If Remy had become an adept of the Left Hand Path, a member of the Order, was he working alone, or would there be others involved? Her eyes narrowed as she shuffled mentally through everything she knew about him. He'd eschewed the societies and groups when she'd been with him, contemptuous of their ill-hidden desires to use the rituals as a means of getting off in the wild and drunken orgies that had loosely been part of the spell-casting.

"_If they want to screw each other, they should just do it," he'd said to her one evening, during a rambling discussion of Eastern versus Western magical practices. "It's ridiculous that they try to justify their base desires by claiming it's a part of the energy release."_

She'd laughed at the time, half-reassured by his matter-of-fact view of the world in which he operated.

She didn't think he would invite any other to this ritual. If it was knowledge or power that he wanted, he was selfish enough to want it to be his, and his alone. Unfortunately, that didn't preclude the likelihood that Dean had been taken with a sacrifice in mind.

* * *

Fog. Thick, grey fog, filling up his mind. He couldn't open his eyes, the lids were weighted, heavy and unresponsive. He couldn't move, could feel the weight of his body putting pressure against his chest, his arms, but he couldn't straighten up.

He could smell damp stone and earth. Could hear the drip of water somewhere, onto something hard, not metal, it was a dull, soft sound. He dragged in a breath through his nose, almost gagging as he tried the next breath through his mouth. Something soft and thick filled his mouth; he couldn't get his tongue around it, or behind it to push it out.

Memory trickled back slowly. The museum. The chalice. The demons running toward them, and leaping out into empty space, his heart hammering as the other building's roof got closer, still not sure he'd make it. Driving. The quiet, suburban house. The slightly bitter coffee. He hadn't paid attention to that acrid sub-taste, thinking that the liquid had just been sitting there too long. A smoke grey carpet, under his body. Glowing red light in his eyes.

_Ellie_. Where was Ellie?

His eyelids lifted a little this time, cracking open. He could see a long, low-ceilinged room. He swung his head around slowly. Basement, he thought, looking at the thick, heavy beams supporting the house above him. It was lined in stone and cold, the musty odour of wet earth coming to him on a faint draught that brushed by his bare feet. He looked down.

The chair was an old fashioned timber carver, with a hard, flat seat and a high straight back. His wrists were bound to the arms with wide strips of Velcro, his ankles held to the legs of the chair by the same method. Another wide strap ran over his chest, pressing him against the back of the chair, tight enough to make taking a deep breath difficult.

Trouble. He was in trouble. He lifted his head, and scanned the room. A bare bulb lit the area to his right, the light failing to reach the far walls of the space. A table had been pushed to the centre of the room, its surface covered with bowls, candles, wooden boxes. In the centre, the chalice gleamed pale silver, the intricate chasings black against the polished metal surface. What had the old woman said about the original purpose of the thing? To raise a soul from Hell? He had a feeling that Lavesseur wasn't interested in the clock at all.

_What had he done with Ellie?_ He couldn't see anyone else in the room, conscious or otherwise, couldn't hear anything that indicated another person was down here. Maybe she was upstairs, still drugged. He realised belatedly where that train of thought could go and stopped it there. He had to get out of here, that was his first priority.

Bracing his hands against the timber, he lifted against the material, feeling a little give, and trying to slide his hands free. His elbows hit the solid back of the chair and he tried to angle them out, but there wasn't enough give for that. He heaved again, muscles bunching as the material creaked against the pressure, but the synthetic wasn't yielding and he couldn't utilise his strength properly lifting that way. He needed more room.

He looked speculatively at the edge of the table. It might be close enough to the right height to give him some help with the strap around his chest, he thought. He pushed down with his feet and the chair rocked slightly. Heavy, awkward … but doable, he decided. He pushed again on the balls of his feet, swinging his weight across at the same time. The chair pivoted slightly, one leg a few inches closer to the table now. Looking down, he rolled his eyes. It would take hours, but it was something to do. And it would keep him warm. The thin t-shirt and jeans that he still had on weren't doing much to keep out the chill of the room.

* * *

Ellie lifted her sunglasses as the sun disappeared below the horizon. She matched her speed to the pattern of the traffic lights, hitting green after green as she threaded her way through the back streets of the city, angling north to get to Kasha's apartment. The last twenty-one hours should have drained her, she thought with a distant surprise, but she felt sharp, her nerve endings crackling with impatience, with barely-contained fury.

She pulled into the alley, weaving in between the dumpsters and pulled up just to one side of the door, turning the engine off and getting out in a single motion.

Leaning on the doorbell, she looked at her watch. Seven thirty. She could crash at one of the motels by the airport –

Her gaze sharpened, as she looked past the watch on her arm to the doorknob beneath, the metal skirt had lifted away from the steel, she could see the shadow where there should only have been a line.

For a second, she stared at the skewed knob, refusing to acknowledge what that small sign meant. _Chaos_, in an ordered world. _Darkness_, where there'd been light. _Death_.

She pushed the steel door and it swung slowly wide, the short back hallway between the door and the stairs inky and silent. _No. Not here too. Not Kasha_. The thoughts were remote, looping over and over again as she moved fast up the stairs, her long knife in one hand, the SIG in the other, seeking the outer edge of the steps, close by the wall.

The second floor was in darkness as well. Ellie moved soundlessly down the hall, catching the still-lingering scent of the killers that had been here, a mix of rotten flowers and putrescent meat. The apartment door was ajar, the space between door and jamb a solid black. She leaned back against the wall beside the door, slipping the SIG back into the flat pancake holster behind her hip. It couldn't do her any good if the vampires were still in there. Kasha had kept a sword, an old Hungarian cavalry sabre that had belonged to her father, mounted on the wall behind the door. The edge was still keen. She slipped through the gap moving behind the door straight away, senses straining to hear, see, smell in the blackness. She reached for the sword's hilt and drew it down, the steel whispering along the length of the scabbard.

She found the old woman in the living room, lying in a patch of light from the streetlight outside the grimy window. In death, she seemed small, her frame no bigger than a child's, the flesh fallen in over the bones, particularly around the deep bite marks on her throat and arms. Ellie crouched beside her, her fingers lying lightly on the dry skin, knowing that life had departed some time ago, unable to prevent herself from checking anyway.

Whatever Kasha had known, it was gone now. She closed her eyes, head bowed over her knees and let a portion of the grief to come wash through and over her. She would take the Alpha's head, when the time came, she promised herself, with Kasha's sword she would sweep it from his neck and burn his body in a pool of molten steel, ensuring no cell remained of it. Beside her, her friend lay still, unmoved by the vow.

Shifting back to get to her feet, she stopped and stared down at the ruck in the rug that Kasha lay on. Just a wrinkle, she told herself, caused by the struggle. She reached out and lifted the corner, seeing the marks against the polished wood. The light was too dim, too diffuse and she stood abruptly, going to the small kitchen, and taking the matches from the back of the stove. As the flame lit, the marks leapt out at her.

_LD28ACNB._


	55. Chapter 55 A Shadow in the Darkness

**Chapter 55**

* * *

Dean was panting by the time he reached the table. Goddamned chair weighed a ton and the flagged stone floor had caught the legs in their cracks more times than he cared to count. The edge of the table was the right height. He could feel the corner lifting away the end flap of the strap behind him, rocking the chair to one side and inching the loop and hook fabric further apart. How he was going to undo the straps around his wrists was a question he was deliberately ignoring for the moment.

The end of the strap made a sharp tearing sound and fell loose. He pulled in a deep breath and swivelled the chair around, pivoting on one leg until he was facing the corner of the table. If he could tilt the chair up on the diagonal, he might be able to catch the edge of the wrist strap on it, he thought.

Behind him, there was a rattle and solid clunk, the bolt of the door being withdrawn. He twisted his head around, unable to see past the high back of the chair, as he heard the door open and footsteps on the stone stairs.

"You have been busy," Remy remarked mildly, walking over to the chair and looking at the ends of the chest strap hanging loose.

Dean looked up at him, brows drawn together. The witch leaned forward and pulled the soft cloth from his mouth, dropping it onto the floor.

"Where's Ellie?"

Remy smiled slightly, moving behind the chair and picking up the ends of the strap, yanking them back against Dean's chest, and fastening them behind the chair.

"You don't need to worry about her, Dean." He walked around to the front of the chair again, looking down. "I left her in White Plains, out cold, but quite safe. It was you I needed."

He leaned back against the edge of table, glancing over his shoulder at the chalice. "Well, and that, of course."

Dean stared at him. "You're lying."

Remy looked back down at him and smiled. "I suppose I do deserve that. But no, I don't have a reason to lie any more. She's safe. I might be sentimental, but she did her job, and there was no real reason to kill her."

_Lying again, or telling the truth?_ Dean looked around the basement, aware of the witch's gaze on him.

"I thought you were supposed to be one of the good witches?" he remarked sourly. _If there's nothing else you can do, then get as much information as you can_. The thought was accompanied by the knowledge that this man wanted to talk about what he was doing, wanted someone to know how clever he'd been.

Remy laughed. "There are no 'good' witches, Dean. We're all the same, driven only by our desire for knowledge and differentiated only by how much power each of us have to go after it." He leaned closer. "I'm surprised your daddy didn't give you a better understanding of that. He certainly found it out for himself."

Dean's eyes narrowed slightly. The witch's name. The spiky black handwriting. Massachusetts. His memories coalesced and he knew where he'd seen Lavesseur's name before, knew why it had been written down, seeing the pages of the journal again in his mind's eye, Jim's heavy writing filling the pages, the details of the witch hunt in the old city by the sea, the phone call he'd gotten from Jim in Texas and the endlessly long drive to Boston, his fear held down tightly.

"You were the apprentice to that witch Dad ganked in Boston." It wasn't a question.

"That's me." Remy straightened, walking around the table to pick up the chalice. "Not that I had much to do with what happened to your father afterwards, we didn't realise that the demon had such a hunger for him."

The memories of his father, lying near death for weeks, operation after operation to repair the damage the demon had done, rose up and threatened to choke him, and he swallowed hard against them, forcing them back down and away.

"That almost scared me from the Path altogether, watching it rip up your father," Remy mused quietly, looking at him. "But not quite."

He put the chalice down, and walked back to Dean. Resting his hands on the ends of the carver's arms, he leaned close to him, his face a few inches from the bound man in front of him.

"And then there was Paris."

Dean pressed himself against the back of the chair. The witch was close enough to him to smell his breath, an oddly cloying odour that reminded him of something, someone else leaning in close to him like this.

"Yeah? What happened in Paris?" He managed to get the words out, watching the man's eyes.

Remy lifted one hand and stroked Dean's cheek lightly, the fingers curling around his jaw and tightening hard against the muscle.

"A slight miscalculation with a spell." He released his grip and straightened up, turning away from Dean.

"What I thought was another witch –" he took off his jacket, and dropped it on the end of the table, loosening his tie and pulling it free, turning back to Dean as he unbuttoned his shirt, "– turned out to be something quite different."

The shirt joined the jacket and tie on the table, and Dean looked away as the witch unbuckled his belt, getting a very bad feeling.

"I always thought they were genetic anomalies, you see," Remy continued calmly, pulling off his pants and folding them neatly, setting them onto the table, "an oddity in the species' genome sequence that occurred perhaps once in every few million conceptions, a throwback or a sport."

He stood naked in front of Dean. "But there's another route to becoming a monster."

Dean looked back as he heard the wet tearing sound, his eyes widening as he watched the witch pull the skin from his shoulders, and chest and arms, body gleaming under a slick coating of clear liquid that seemed to seep from his pores. Lavesseur groaned as his fingers gouged the flesh away, each chunk dropping to the stone floor with a moist splat, the flesh and bone and tendon underneath rippling and bulging as the new form took shape.

Dean swallowed, knowing what he was watching, feeling his gorge rise nonetheless as the man drove his fingers into the skin of his face, peeling back the meat and hair and features, leaving a soft blank mask behind.

_St Louis, Missouri. 2006. The dark, and the scent of cold, wet stone there too, in his memories of the sewers beneath the city. A creature leaning toward him, the thick, organic smell of its breath filling his nose and mouth. When the shifter had finished transforming, it had had his face._

_Déjà vu_, he thought, mouth twisting slightly as he watched the features settle and solidify, every scar, every mark identical to the ones on his face, his body. A witch who's also a shifter, he wondered? Or had the witch been a shapeshifter the whole time?

"It was a transference spell, you see," Remy continued to explain, his voice no longer the tenor it had been, but Dean's deeper baritone now. The speech was off; syntax and intonations still Lavesseur's. His doppelganger turned to the table, picking up the boxers and pulling them on. "It was supposed to transfer the power of the witch to me." He laughed softly. "It did, but it transferred everything else as well."

"So you're still Lavesseur, you just have the powers of a shapeshifter now?" Dean asked, watching him closely, his mind still baulking slightly at the sight of himself replicated so exactly.

"Yes. I have the shifter's abilities, and its appetites." He turned and smiled, a fleeting rictus of horrifying savagery, gone a second later. "They're surprisingly strong, those appetites, but I'm working on reducing them."

* * *

Ellie looked at the key that sat on the table in front of her. She'd driven from Kasha's apartment to the closest post office, finding the box number and picking the lock. Inside had been a small padded envelope. Inside the envelope, a key, the numbers filed off, and two sheets of paper. One held Kasha's personal identification details. The other had two codes.

It had to be for a safe deposit box, she thought, looking at the key. The question was where. The letters didn't match up with anything in the local area, and Kasha wouldn't have used a local bank anyway.

She pulled out her laptop and opened it, typing the four letters into the search field and hitting enter. The list of hits was in the low hundreds of thousands. She got up and walked to the tiny kitchen counter in the room, and filled the glass jug and filter of the coffee pot.

Several corporations, medical boards, a number of overseas organisations. She filtered the search by country and tried again. Corporations, medical boards and one bank. She clicked on the site and smiled as it came up. Pennsylvania. That seemed about right.

She still needed the number to the box. The pot was bubbling and she got up, going to the pot and pouring out a cup, carrying it back to the table. She circled Kasha's birthdate, and the date of her marriage. Both were too obvious for the woman, she thought, the tip of the pencil hovering over the paper. Something that was meaningful to both Kasha and Yure, something that only someone very close to them would know, would remember.

She carried the cup to the nightstand and sat on the bed, drawing her legs up to her chest and closing her eyes as she thought of the couple.

She'd been nineteen when she'd met them. Michael had been killed and there had been a small enamelled box in his possessions, with instructions to deliver it to Y. and K. Verestyuk. No address, no indication of who they might be. She'd run the usual searches and had finally gone to Peg's bar, hoping that the couple were known to the woman who seemed to know everyone.

Peg had known them, had explained that they weren't hunters. She'd had an address for them. When Ellie had arrived on their doorstep, at five in the morning after driving all night, they had been welcoming. Saddened by Michael's death, they had both, in their separate ways, seen her grief and shame, and had taken her in for a period of time, giving her a place and a way to grieve, a haven and the beginnings of a broader education in the other occupations that specialised in the doings of the supernatural world.

Yure had been a hunter, in the Ukraine. Kasha had learned the arts of forgery in Budapest, before the war. They'd met by chance, on a train in Austria, and had seen what was coming long enough before anyone else that when the Nazis had marched into Hungary in 1944, they'd be prepared, their documentation impeccable and their exit visas confirmed. Kasha had laughed when she'd told that story, but Ellie had been able to see the fury and pain that still lingered, at the back of her pale blue eyes.

"_They wanted to hold us, in spite of Yure's beautiful blond locks," She'd winked at her husband, whose dark hair, dark eyes and olive-toned skin proclaimed his Jewish heritage. "But they couldn't argue with the documents I'd made. Birth certificates, identification cards, marriage certificate – they were masterpieces, if I do say so myself."_

"_And she does, every time she tells this story," Yure confided sotto voce to Ellie._

"_Well, they were." Kasha had looked at Ellie. "I don't think I have ever been able to duplicate such work. The need was very great."_

"_March 19, 1944," she'd added, glancing at Yure. "A date I will never forget. When they came marching in, we went to the train station and left."_

The memory of the conversation brought grief, as she'd known it would. From that first meeting, Kasha and Yure's warmth and inclusion had been a revelation to her, a taste of what having a family could have been like. And over the years, she'd returned to them whenever she'd needed that warmth and comfort. From them, she'd learned about ancient languages and ancient artefacts, about security and the means to get around it, about the millionfold ties between the history of the world, and the powers of the supernatural entities that had shaped it.

And now they were both gone.

* * *

Remy sat in a chair, opposite Dean, his head tilted slightly to one side, as if he were listening. Dean looked at him, the disorientation of seeing himself receding as the witch's mannerisms reminded him that it wasn't a mirror he was looking into.

"Ah." Remy leaned forward. "So she didn't tell you about me, at least not in much detail."

Dean looked away. "She told me enough."

"And there's a still a part of you that's afraid, afraid to ask too much, afraid to push too hard, even though the need for answers eats at you." He leaned back in the chair, studying Dean thoughtfully. "That's interesting. That you don't trust completely the way she feels about you. I'll have to remember that."

"If you think she's going to think you're me, you better think again," Dean said, raising his gaze to the other man's face. "She'll know."

"Do you think so?" Remy smiled. "The part of me that is the shapeshifter has a great deal of trouble with emotions, making them real, making them believable. But I'm not – entirely – a shapeshifter, and the longer I can study you, the more precisely I feel what you feel. What a history you've had, Winchester." He shook his head. "And how close you've come so many times to giving in to your despair. It's really quite fascinating."

Dean's mouth twisted, one brow rising derisively. "It won't matter how much you know about me."

"We'll see." Remy nodded. "In a few months, when she's really afraid that you won't be coming back, I'll go to her, and it'll be a miracle, the miracle she's prayed for. I don't think she'll be too critical by then."

He tipped his head back, closing his eyes, fingers steepled in front of him. Dean looked at him, and held back a smile. _One gesture like that, buddy, and it will be all over_, he thought. Ellie wouldn't buy it, there was no way. The guy might be able to figure out how he talked, and moved, and what to talk about but he wouldn't get it all, and no matter how much she might want to believe in it, she wouldn't lie to herself.

The thought of the man sitting opposite him knowing about him, knowing how he felt, what he thought, was stomach-turning. His memories, the decisions he'd made, they were his, shared with only one other person. He flexed against the straps again, and Remy opened his eyes, looking at him.

"You gave up on her so easily, telling yourself that it hadn't been real. I wouldn't have gone to some other woman and her brat, you know. I'd have searched the world over for her, I had the balls to tell her how I felt, how much I loved her."

Dean set his teeth together, the muscle in his jaw jumping.

"And screwing the Amazon chick – an _Amazon_, yet – you don't even know why she took you back after that, do you?" Remy looked at him, mouth lifted at one side. "And you never told her about the kid. That was probably a good call, not much point in adding agony to misery, was there?"

The words were knifing into him, a little at a time, so he barely registered the change in the witch's tone, in the words he was using, the way he was speaking.

"Man, you have so many issues and so much crap in your past, there's more than a lifetime of juice there for the shifter to feed off," Remy said, shaking his head. "That's what they do, you know. Feed off the emotions, the really strong ones, looking for a way to be human, looking for a way to fit in."

* * *

191944.

That was it, she was sure of it. The number floated against the blackness of her closed lids. In the morning, she'd get Sam from the airport and they'd head straight for Pennsylvania. Then New Hampshire.

The desire to just get in the car and drive to Lavesseur's house now was powerful. But she couldn't go in there without preparation, without knowing what he'd taken Dean for, why he was holding him. And she couldn't go without backup, not this time. The fact that he had taken him was slightly reassuring. He needed him for some reason. And he was still alive. She felt that, strongly. Still alive and waiting for her.

She pulled off her boots and dropped them onto the floor beside the bed, pulling the covers back and wriggling under them. She felt empty, washed out. She didn't think she was done with the grieving, but the tension and pain she'd been holding back since finding Kasha's body had gone, leaving nothing behind. Tiredness was filling her slowly. She needed to sleep, to be recharged for the next move.

She was no closer to understanding what Remy wanted, but there was a way forward now, at least.

* * *

When she woke, it was still dark, but she could feel the morning close by. She'd slept for almost eight hours, not enough to catch up completely, but more than enough to get through the next couple of days.

She stretched out fully, listening to her body for any ache or twinge or stab of pain. There were none. Getting off the bed, she stripped down and walked to the bathroom, turning on the shower and washing thoroughly. The act was symbolic as well as practical. She felt the grief recede, shut away now until this was over and she could feel again. Likewise, her fear and tension about Dean was closed off, walled up. She couldn't afford the distraction of feelings. She couldn't risk the fractional hesitations she might make if she wasn't completely focussed on the job.

When she got out, she wrapped the towel around herself and looked in the mirror. The face that stared back at her was cold and smooth and hard.

In clean clothes, she made a fresh pot of coffee and sat down in front of the laptop again, logging into the VPN Frank had set up and leaving him a list of things to find out as soon as he possibly could. At the top, bolded for emphasis, the question: _What rumours of the Order of the Nine Angles that related to a spell to raise a soul from Hell?_

At nine, she was sitting in the car, parked in front of the arrivals terminal in Eppley. Sam's flight was due in at eight-fifty, and she watched the thin trickle of people coming out, seeing him easily as he towered over the group surrounding him, his leather satchel in one hand, the worn khaki duffle in the other. She tapped the horn and he came out, tossing the bags into the back seat and sliding into the passenger seat, setting a thick manila file secured with rubber bands on the seat between them.

Ellie started the engine and pulled out, clearing the airport and turning onto Abbott Drive for the I-80 east.

Sam watched her as she drove. "Did you get the details of the ritual?"

Ellie glanced in the rearview mirror, and shook her head. "Kasha was dead when I got there."

Sam let out a slow exhale and looked out of his window. That went some way to explaining the cold, hard woman sitting beside him. "What happened?"

"Vampires," she said, her gaze fixed on the road. "Have you been through that file?"

He nodded. "There are some financial things, transfers and payments, Frank thinks, in clumps that need following up. Some from the Illuminati, some from a paper corporation that's nested so deeply Frank couldn't find the owners in the time I gave him. He's still working on it though."

He straightened up a little as she turned on the interstate. "Where are we going?"

"Kasha left something in a safe deposit box in Gettysburg."

"The ritual?"

"Pretty sure." She gestured slightly to the envelope on the seat beside her. "I've got a key and the codes. We'll go there first, get whatever's there and then head straight for New Hampshire."

"Dean'll be okay, Ellie." Sam looked from the envelope to her profile. "You know how he is hard to kill."

"I know."

There was no inflexion in her voice, she could have been talking about the weather. Sam frowned, his eyes narrowing as he looked more closely at her. Her hands were light on the wheel, weaving the car through the traffic easily, opening after opening appearing as they were needed. He couldn't see any tension in her, yet she radiated a palpable force that was something between acute awareness and hair-trigger reaction. He was abruptly reminded of a falcon, hovering high above a field, watching for the prey to come out of hiding, waiting with cold patience for the moment to attack.

He'd seen her like this before. When Dean had been taken by demons, back in 2007. Back then, it had just been a flash, like seeing the distant sheet lightning of an approaching storm, hidden quickly as they'd gone into action. Now, it felt like static electricity, building up in the car's close interior, making his nerves crawl in response.

He'd known her for a long time, counted her as a good friend, but in many ways she was still an enigma. She didn't talk about herself much, didn't volunteer information, and he knew that the pieces he'd put together of her life were far from a complete picture. His brother was probably the only person who knew her well, he thought, and from the little Dean'd said over the last few years, there was still a lot that even he didn't know, hadn't discovered. What Sam did know about her was how much she loved Dean. And he knew that there was no limit to how far she'd go for his brother.

* * *

Dean was sick of the sound of his own voice. In the cold room, Lavesseur's voice – _his_ voice – echoed flatly from the hard stone walls, as the witch rummaged through his memories, through his thoughts.

"Sam thought you were being all noble and sacrificing yourself for him, didn't he? Wasn't the truth though, was it, Winchester?" Remy said, looking at him. "The truth was that you couldn't live with yourself if you let him die. So why not die instead?"

He looked away from the man with his face. The truth, at least as he'd come to understand it, was more complicated than that, but he guessed that had been a major component of it. The enforced trip down memory lane was disorienting, the sense that this man was pawing over him, grubby hands soiling the innermost, private parts of him, nauseating.

Lavesseur was silent for a long moment, then looked at him. "So, Hell really is a torture pit of flame and sulphur and agony." The witch shook his head, the dark green eyes slightly unfocussed as he looked through Dean's memories of the thirty years he'd spent on the rack, sliced and carved, torn apart and remade, memories of anguish and despair, of excruciating pain that had gone on and on, of demon laughter and the unbearable knowledge that it would never end.

"I'm impressed." His eyes refocussed. "I know your father managed to last longer, but I had no idea it was like that. Most would have picked up Alastair's razor a lot earlier, Dean."

Dean closed his eyes, willing himself not to think, not to hear, not to feel.

"Ellie was right, you know," the voice continued on and he couldn't block it out, not entirely. "It wasn't an act of evil. Trust me, I know evil. It was just … human frailty."

The sympathy in the words made him flinch inwardly, ripped apart anew by the sensations of being naked and vulnerable in front of his enemy.

"And had you known, that that act would break the first seal of Lucifer's cage, you would never have done it. You know that, don't you? It's one thing to believe you're damning yourself forever; you would have held out if you'd known – or even suspected – that getting off meant loosing the devil on the world."

He did know that. No matter what it might've cost him, if he'd known that the seal would be broken, he would never have gotten off. He hadn't been sure of what difference that had made, until she'd shown him. _Alastair told you that you had broken, Dean, but if he'd really broken you, he wouldn't have needed to hide the truth about the seal._ He'd been lost in Hell, but the consequences of his actions had always ended with what would happen to him. The fate of the world hadn't been a factor.

"And Heaven interceded too late. Didn't that make you wonder, Dean? Wonder about their motivations?"

He shook his head tiredly. He'd been so damned grateful to be free of the underworld, to be alive and breathing air and walking around and with his brother, he hadn't looked for the implications, hadn't wanted to look for them.

Remy leaned back in his chair, the face he wore relaxed and smiling. "Just perfect. It's all just … perfect."

* * *

The drive took eighteen hours, and they'd done it in shifts, six on, six off. They arrived at two in the morning, and parked the car in the car park of a gas station, under the outside lights. By dawn, Ellie had read through the information that Sam had brought with him, and she watched the sun's slow ascent absently, letting the information run past everything that she knew of Lavesseur, waiting for connections.

She was more than willing to bet that Frank would be unable to track down Remy's unknown financial benefactor. The nested paper trail of incorporations would meander down through the years, through the centuries, until the only records existed on paper, in some old filing cabinet somewhere in the world. The vampires had been keeping track of events far too easily for there not to be a connection between Remy and the Alpha, and proving that would be impossible. Immortals had the luxury of time, time to accumulate wealth, time to hide it from prying mortal eyes. Even though, somewhere, a trail would exist to the First Vampire, it would be impossible to find.

She didn't need incontrovertible evidence. She was certain that the witch had been feeding information to the vampires. He would have enjoyed the game of playing the secret society he despised off against the arrogant Alpha, pretending loyalty to both and giving them only what he thought was necessary. His belief in his own superiority of intelligence had been one of the many reasons she had never been able to conjure more than affection for him.

The question she very much wanted an answer for was motivation. The chalice had two functions. Which one was the Alpha interested in? She couldn't imagine the creature caring about a long-dead hellbound soul. But she couldn't see any reason for the Alpha wanting to control time either. He had all the time he would ever need.

She was still lost in her speculations when Sam woke and sat up, rubbing his neck.

"I really thought I was done with sleeping in this car," he said, looking around the car park.

She glanced at him. "Life's cruel that way. Coffee?"

He nodded, opening the rear door and clambering out, stretching upwards to get rid of the multiple kinks in back, shoulders and neck. Getting into the passenger seat, he looked down at the file.

"Any ideas?"

"The other payments are coming from the Alpha vampire, I think," she said, starting the engine and reversing out of the space. "I can't think of a reason for it to care about the chalice, but I'm pretty sure that's how they've been keeping up so easily."

Sam ran his hand through his hair, leaning back against the door. "What about the Order of the Nine Angles?"

"I asked Frank to run a check on anything that might have come from them in the last few years." She turned onto the street, heading for the bank's address. The roads were slowly filling with commuter traffic, and driving becoming more tricky as she avoided the half-asleep drivers. "There must have been something to spark Remy's interest in them. He was never concerned about membership with those groups before."

"Will Frank be able to find out something like that?" Sam gripped the dash as Ellie was forced to brake, the car pulling out in front of her driven by a woman who seemed to be applying her makeup as she drove.

"Sure." She turned off the main road they were on, deciding that the secondary roads would be safer until after nine. "Once he gets hold of their network, anything that they've used it for will be ours."

There was a small diner on the corner of the drive, and she pulled into a parking space across the road from it. The bank wouldn't be open for an hour, they could have something to eat and wait there, walk the half-block afterwards.

"And something must have gone out, even if it was only a rumour," she added, as she turned off the engine and slid out of the car.

They crossed the street and walked into the diner, finding a booth at the back and ordering.

"Why would anyone want a soul raised from Hell?" Sam drank the hot coffee gratefully.

"That's a good question." Ellie shrugged. "Although I'm certain that's what Remy wants the chalice for. He craves knowledge, so perhaps that's what he's after."

"Knowledge of what?"

Her mouth twisted slightly. "Knowledge of everything."

* * *

When the bank opened, they were at the doors. Ellie walked to the Customer Service counter and requested the application to open a safe deposit box. She filled in the form and recited the personal information Kasha had left her, and the codes that the bank required for verification. The vault was in the basement, and they walked down the stairs, following the manager. He pulled the box from its slot in the wall, and set it down on a table in a private room. Ellie glanced at Sam as the manager withdrew, and slipped the key into the lock.

Inside, a thick file of documents filled most of the box. On the top, an envelope rested, a name written in a delicate script. Ellie looked at it and blinked. It was her name.

She picked up the envelope and lifted the file out, handing it to Sam. Opening the envelope, she pulled the single sheet from inside and read it slowly, feeling her throat constrict against the fresh wave of grief that it brought.

Under the file, a number of small silk bags lay on the bottom of the safe deposit box. She lifted one out and opened it, tipping a handful of beautifully cut and polished gems into her hand. Rubies, emeralds, sapphires, the stones were large and flawless, of a quality that was virtually unknown now, she thought. Spoils of their adventures. She slipped the stones back into the bag and pulled it tight, setting it back into the box. She would leave this here, she decided, until this was over. Then she could think about what to do with the legacies that Kasha and Yure had left with her.

She turned and looked down at the file. Sam looked down at her.

"There are a lot of very interesting documents here."

Her smile was small and slightly strained, but still a smile. "You have no idea, Sam. Don't get lost in them, though, we need only one right now."

He pushed the file to her, and watched as she skimmed each document, setting them aside as she finished. The Illuminati's seal leapt out at both of them, and she picked up the parchment pages, and began to slowly read through the Latin text. Sam looked over her shoulder, deciphering words here and there, but aside from exorcism rituals, he hadn't had to read Latin for a few years. He glanced at her as he heard her sharply indrawn breath.

"What?"

"This is it." Ellie forced her fingers to loosen their grip on the page edges. "Ah … Hecate hora … On Hecate's hour of a moonless night … os et caro et sanguis mortalis … the flesh and blood and bone of a mortal man … resurrexit a ignis Inferni,"

"Raised from the fires of Hell." Sam looked down at the page bleakly. "That's what he wants Dean for."

"Yes." Ellie looked back at the text on the page. "The rest is the incantation, the other offerings for the release of the soul. He must have the rest …" Her face tightened as she read further. "Goddamn him."

"What?" Sam looked over her shoulder, scanning the words. "An innocent's flesh?"

She closed her eyes. "That's what he wanted from the Order. He needed a baby for this spell."

Sam looked at her, his stomach heaving as the meaning registered. "We have to get up there now."

"Yeah." She reassembled the file, replacing all of it except the ritual into the box. The ritual went into her backpack. She watched as the manager returned the box to the wall.

"Hecate's hour is midnight. I don't know when the next dark phase of the moon is," Sam said tersely as they walked back to the car.

"It's tonight."


	56. Chapter 56 Hecate's Hour

**Chapter 56**

* * *

"What do you want with a soul from Hell anyway?" Dean watched Lavesseur as he stood up and walked to the other end of the room.

"What do I want? Nothing." Remy said over his shoulder, picking something up from the bench that ran along the far wall. "What I'll get is why I'm playing this game."

He turned and came back, the long-handled bolt cutters held loosely by his side.

Dean stared at them. "What'll you get, then?"

"Freedom." Lavesseur set the cutters on the edge of the table. "Revenge."

Dean waited, unable to take his gaze from the cutters.

"Usiku hired me to find the chalice, to raise the soul," the witch continued, looking down at the cutters, his fingers running along the long handles. "I didn't ask why, just made the deal."

"Who's Usiku?"

"I believe you call him the Alpha Vampire." Remy looked at Dean. "The first, the most ancient eater in the night. It was the first name he was given, a variation of it, anyway."

Dean filed that away. "What was the deal?"

"He can remove the shapeshifter from me." He smiled slightly. "Once it's gone, this will be the form I will stay in. And then I'll have it all, everything that you have."

He picked up the cutters, laughing. "You and your family have been a curse on my life and that all ends tonight."

"I never even met you until a week ago."

"True, but I've hated your name for years. Your father killed the man who'd become my father, Dean. Reinhart was the only one who'd seen what I could be, who was helping me to become what I could be – and then he was dead." He shook his head. "And I got through that, somehow, and met a beautiful woman, someone who understood me, I thought, someone who was strong enough to stand beside me, and she tells me that she's in love with Dean Winchester. Son of John." He crouched in front of Dean, one knee on the floor. "Do you know what that felt like, Dean? It felt like fucking persecution."

He opened the handles and the blades came apart. Dean looked down at them.

"I'm not going to lie to you – I tried to kill your father several times, but he always managed to slip clear. And I wanted to kill you so much there were times when I feared for my sanity." He moved the cutters close to Dean's foot, smiling as Dean curled his toes under the ball instinctively. "I should have trusted, should have had faith … Usiku told me that I would get all that I desired. Your father's dead. You'll be dead as soon as I'm free of the shifter genes, and I'll have your wife, and your children and your home."

He gripped the toes and straightened them, setting the blades over and under the smallest. "Don't struggle, it'll be over in a second."

Dean stared down furiously, moving his foot back and forth to the limits that the bonds would allow. "What the fuck?"

"This was always an impossible spell, really. I've known about it for years, but one ingredient I could never work out how to get," Remy slammed the handle of the cutters onto Dean's foot, at the point above the little toe. Dean felt the foot go numb, then fill with pain. He couldn't move it and he watched helplessly as the cutter's blades enclosed the toe again, closing hard and severing it. The pain was immense, swallowing him, a scream locked in his throat as he watched his blood run from the wound.

"I needed the flesh and bone and blood of a mortal man raised from Hell." Remy picked up the toe and set it on the table, then tore open a dressing, covering the wound. "Don't move that or you'll bleed faster."

"Do you know how hard it is to find someone who's been raised from Hell? Especially starting from the premise that it's impossible?" Remy picked up the toe and walked down the table, putting into a bowl near the chalice. "And then Ellie told me about you."

Dean's hands were balled into fists, every muscle clenched and his breath whistling through his teeth. He watched the dressing turn red and struggled to let the pain go, to let it wash through him, breathe deep through it and slow his heart rate.

"I'm going to fucking well kill you," he grated, staring at Lavesseur.

"Sure. 'Course you are," Remy glanced at him, one side of his mouth lifting. "Deep breaths, Dean. Don't want you to bleed out."

He sat down in the chair opposite Dean again. "She didn't want to tell me. You should know that. I'd summoned a demon who told me the only man he knew of who'd been raised from Hell was Dean Winchester." He leaned forward. "When I heard the name, I knew it was destiny."

He looked down at the reddened dressing, then back to Dean's face. "It's quite amazing how much a woman will trust in a man who's sharing her bed." He laughed as he saw the reaction in it. "I don't think she ever realised that I'd drugged her, she didn't remember our conversation the next day. Perhaps on some deeper level she knew, though, because she left a week later."

Dean dragged in another breath. "You never loved her. You don't have the first fucking idea of what love is."

"Maybe not." The witch shrugged. "Doesn't matter now, does it? I have the ingredients. I have the ritual. I have the chalice. And after midnight, you'll be dead."

* * *

Ellie and Sam lay hidden under the cover of the tall bracken, at the edge of the woods surrounding the great gothic pile of stone. It was overdone, she thought critically, even for the period, the rooflines and towers bristling with gargoyles and precious ornamentation, the flying buttresses ostentatiously unrequired. They'd circled the house once, and there were a number of entrances that would give them access to the building.

According to Frank's infrared scope, there were only two living creatures in the building. That made things easier.

The drive had taken them eleven hours, and they'd reached the unused logging road that ran along the northern edge of the estate at nine. It was now ten, the last hour spent looking for access and watching for the security measures she was sure that Remy would have installed.

"You ready?" she asked Sam softly. He nodded, and they rose, splitting up and following the line of the woods in different directions as they approached the house. Both of the signals had been in the same room, in the centre of the house. The scope didn't differentiate between floors, but Ellie didn't think they were having a quiet chat in the living room. Her target was the wine cellar door. Sam was heading for the kitchen, and access to whatever underground rooms the main part of the house had.

Frank had called up the construction plans for the house while they'd been en route, and she recalled them to mind now, as she crossed the bare orchard and slipped silently along the hedgerow opposite the cellar door. She glanced at her watch, and waited.

Thirty seconds later, the power went out and she moved to the door, looking in exasperation at the old fashioned heavy iron lock. She pulled out her picks and selected the thickest, working quickly through the lock and hearing the deep clunk as the tenon shifted out of the mortise. The door opened and she moved inside.

* * *

Sam looked at the power box. He'd shorted the mains coming in. No one was going to have it going again without replacing the transformer. The back door to the kitchen was a few feet to his right, and he kept to the garden bed, off the gravel path, pulling out his picks as he came up to it.

If the plans were correct, and nothing had been modified since they'd been lodged, the basement door would be in the kitchen. The lock gave, and he pushed the door open, pulling the night goggles down over his eyes, and giving himself a moment to get used to the green-edged glow that now outlined the kitchen. He saw the door, and moved toward it, every sense on high alert.

The main basement took up nearly a half of the under-house area, he remembered. The rest held a wine cellar, on the northern side, and an unspecified space under the centre of the house. According to the plan, all three areas were accessible to each other via doors. He'd start at this end, and hopefully meet Ellie somewhere in the middle, one or both of them finding both his brother and the chalice, and neither meeting the witch in the meantime. He snorted inwardly. A faint hope.

The stairs down from the door were solid, and he went down quickly, moving his head from side to side slowly to avoid the green flare that accompanied any faster movement. He could see a number of smaller rooms here below the kitchen, partitioned from the main basement. The first was lined with shelving, and seemed to be a root cellar, a number of dusty and empty preserving jars filling one set of shelves. The next room might have been the original ice-room, a round well dug out in the centre, surrounded by a low stone wall. He walked to the edge and looked down, the goggles showing a faint gleam around the edge of the well where the water level met the stone. The air in the room was icy, still and damp. He backed out, and turned to the next doorway, on the other side of the staircase.

Another empty room, it also held a round hole in the centre of the floor, this one without a lip. He was turning to go out when he heard the low hiss of indrawn breath, echoing very softly against the stone lining of the hole. He dropped to his knees beside it, and looked down.

The shaft was twenty feet deep, and almost six feet in diameter. At the bottom, he could see his brother, hunched up against the cold.

"Dean," he couldn't keep the relief out of his voice. "Are you okay? Are you injured?"

"Sam?" Dean looked up, his eyes wide and staring, unable to see a thing. "Sam? Sonofabitch cut my toe off. My foot hurts like hell. Sam?"

"Yeah, I'm here. I'm gonna get you out." Sam stood up, moving to the doorway of the room, scanning the basement for rope, or a ladder, or anything he could use to drag Dean out of that hole.

"Sam?" Dean's voice rose quietly out of the hole.

"Dean, keep quiet. I'm trying to find something to get you out," he called back, walking further into the basement. His gaze passed over the massive heap of thick hemp rope twice before he registered it; it looked like a pile of logs in the depthless green perception of the goggles. Too heavy to take it all, he found the end and started back to the room that held the oubliette, dragging the length after him.

Dean looked up at the noises. He'd been in the utter blackness for several hours now, the dressing on his foot dry and crusted over, the wound and the entire foot throbbing in time with his pulse, aching with a deep fierce pain. He was frozen, and the chill in the air stung in the cuts he'd gained when the witch had pushed him into the hole, trying to stop himself from falling straight down, his hands and knees were lacerated from the rough stone that lined it. He'd landed more or less on his back, and that was aching as well. He hoped that whatever Sam was dragging toward him, it wasn't going to require much effort from him to get out.

At the top, Sam made a loop in the end, and a second smaller one a few feet above it, lowering the end of the rope down into the hole and hauling at the rest. "Dean, tell me when you've got the rope."

"Uh huh." He looked up, futilely, swinging his hand back and forth through the space, feeling for the rope. His fingers touched the rough thick warp a moment later, and he caught hold of it, fingers walking down the length until he found the loop. "Got it, Sam."

"There's a loop in the bottom, and one about chest height," Sam said quietly. "Get your foot in the bottom one and hold onto the other one, I'll pull you out."

Dean felt for the bottom loop and put his left foot in it, finding the second loop and gripping it tightly. "Yeah, okay. I'm good."

Sam settled the rope around his shoulders and chest, drawing up the slack until he felt Dean's weight. He turned and started to walk away from the wall, out of the room, hoping that the friction of the rope over the edge of the hole wouldn't cut through it. It was over an inch in diameter, he thought it would probably hold up.

Dean felt himself rising slowly, and pushed himself off the walls as the rope twisted under his weight. Relief was flooding through him, and he tipped his head back slightly, trying to see in the darkness, wondering vaguely how his brother was seeing without a light of any kind. He felt the rope jump in his hands as the knot rode over the lip, and felt for the edge, swinging his leg up and getting a grip with his knee as he rose another foot.

"Whoa, Sam. I'm out." He rolled out, away from the edge, and lay on his back for a moment, forcing the wave of emotions back and down, away from him. When this was over, he could look at the fear that had filled him, down in the dark hole, fear and the helplessness of not being able to do anything to save himself, of thinking that no one would come, no one would ever even find his body down there. He closed his eyes and waited for the shakes to pass, then he sat up.

"Where's Ellie?"

Sam smiled in the darkness. "She's at the other end of the house, looking for the chalice, looking for you."

"Christ, no. Lavesseur's a shifter – he looks exactly like me!"

* * *

Ellie pulled down the night goggles and moved into the wine cellar. The racks that lined the walls were almost empty, the place dusty and untouched for a long time, she thought. The goggles outlined everything in a greenish-white light, and she scanned the long room carefully, looking at the walls, the floor, for any sign that anyone had been through here recently. It didn't seem like it. The door that led into the main basement area, under the centre of the house, was to her left and she walked quickly for it, listening in the darkness, her gun already in her hand.

He was still alive. She knew it. There was time to get him free, get him out. She saw the door and stopped beside it, her hand on the large metal knob. It was thick, planked timber and she hesitated indecisively for a second, unwilling to open it and give herself away if there was anyone on the other side, but aware that she had no choice at all in the matter. She turned the knob carefully and pushed the door open, very slowly, slipping through the gap the instant it was wide enough. The room – or space rather – on the other side was enormous, lit at the centre by a dozen candles, set on a table. She pushed the goggles back onto her forehead and looked around. The candlelight couldn't reach the walls but the space seemed to be mostly empty. The table seemed to be the only thing there.

She heard a rattle and clunk, and crouched down by the wall, head turning to the short flight of steps that the noise seemed to be coming from. The angle of the room prevented her from seeing the door that must have been at the top of them, but she saw the man walk down the steps, bootsoles almost silent on the wood, louder as he reached the stone floor. She stood up as she saw the jeans, shirt and jacket, the dark head looking at the table.

"Dean!"

Walking fast out of the shadows, relief made her buoyant, as he turned to look at her, the familiar one-sided smile lifting his mouth.

"Are you alright? How'd you get free?" She looked him over, looking for injuries, as she came up to him.

"Lavesseur left me alone down here this morning. I don't know where he is, but I just checked through the house and I couldn't find him." He looked at her. "Are you okay? He said he'd left you at White Plains."

"Yeah, headache when I woke up, but nothing else." She glanced around and nodded to the door she'd come in through. "We need to go. He wants to use you for the ritual – he needs the body of a man raised from Hell."

"Yeah, he said." He stepped close to her. "Wait a minute, I – I just want to make sure you're real."

She turned back to him, lifting her head and smiling at him as his arms came around her and he bent his head to kiss her.

She pulled back a second after his lips touched hers, staring up at him with wide, horrified eyes, and he tightened his grip, dragging her close to him.

"Where's Dean?" Ellie whispered, trying to get her head around the impossibility of the man next to her.

He smiled slightly, his hand closing hard around her wrist, swinging her around to catch the other one. Ellie shook off the shock that was dulling her mind, snatching her arm from his grasp and letting her weight drop. The sudden move broke his hold on her and she rolled out from under him, coming to her feet and pulling her gun as he advanced on her. She squeezed off a shot, the sound deafening in the enclosed stone room, before his hand swept for her throat, and she was forced to twist away, dropping the gun when she saw the bullet hole through his chest had knocked him back but hadn't stopped him. Shifter. The thought flashed through her mind and she adjusted her reactions, her expectations, moving back fast out of range of the creature's reach, reaching automatically for the silver blade that was usually sheathed in her boot, remembering too late that she hadn't put it in. Silver wasn't lethal against the enemies she'd been expecting to face.

"It's good to see you haven't let your training lapse, Ellie."

She frowned at the voice, hearing a certain familiarity in the syntax, ignoring the deeply familiar timbre. "Remy?"

"That's right." He feinted to the left, taking a long stride to the right, his hand snapping out to her. She faded back again, circling now as she felt the press of the walls not too far behind her.

He was stronger, and very fast, she thought, moving past the table again, this time on the other side. She couldn't afford to let him get a grip on her, she wouldn't be able to use surprise on him again. Or count on his feelings for her. Without silver, she wasn't sure what she could do to hold him off though. A blind chase through a blacked-out house that he knew and she didn't wasn't an appealing prospect. And a shifter could see in the dark as well as it could in light, her goggles wouldn't give her the advantage there either.

"What happened to you?" She followed the table, keeping it between them.

"Long story." He slowed down, following her but allowing her to keep her distance. "I'm amazed that you knew it wasn't Dean … how is that, exactly?"

She looked at him. He was going to try to wear her down, she thought. "Long story."

He laughed softly. "It changes things, Ellie. I wanted you. Wanted you to be happy with me, but if you can tell that it's not him, I don't know how I'm going to do that."

"It never would have worked, Remy. It's not what he looks like or sounds like, it's who he is, inside."

"Yeah?" He stopped for a moment and she stopped as well, watching him. "I have his feelings, his memories, his thoughts, Ellie. You know that he doesn't trust the way you feel?"

She raised a brow slightly. "I know how he feels."

He leaned forward, resting his hands on the table, and she glanced at the table, her gaze sweeping over it for what had to be there, somewhere. His athame, the ceremonial knife that was necessary for every ritual, for the opening of every circle and the closing of them. It would be silver, and it would be lethal to him. She saw it as he spoke again, the harshness in his voice catching her attention before the words sank in.

"Did you know that he had a kid with the woman he slept with in Seattle, Ellie?"

She looked into the dark green eyes, seeing the triumph in them, and blocked out the surge of emotion that hit her, seeing that he wanted to hurt her, wanted to shake her. It might give her the opportunity to get the knife.

"How would you know that?" she whispered, letting her voice tremble.

"He knows it. That woman, Lydia, was an Amazon. The child was born the next day, was fully grown in three days, a daughter. She came for him, pleaded with him to help her." His attention was fully on her face, searching it for cracks, for pain, for the way to get her love to turn to hate. She opened her mouth, keeping her eyes fixed on his, and her hand moved, reaching for the athame, feeling the smooth hide hilt under her fingers, tightening around it and snatching it up.

He looked at the knife in her hand, his face darkening in rage. "You fucking little bitch."

The coarseness of the comment made her smile. "You have no idea."

She moved around the table, and now he retreated in front of her, his hip hitting the edge as she increased her speed. He veered off, away from the table when he came to the end and she accelerated, jumping as she came into range, one leg snapping out and hitting him in the chest, knocking him backwards. She dropped and slashed as he rolled away from her, and he howled as the silver edge sliced through his skin, bubbling and blackening instantly.

"What a dilemma, Remy," she remarked coldly as she pursued him. "The ritual athame must be silver, but it's deadly to shifters."

He turned and glared at her, and she hesitated for a fraction of a second, that look of hatred on Dean's features throwing her just a little.

"Where is he?" She followed down the length of the room.

"Dead. He's dead." Remy turned again and spat at her. "I needed his body for the ritual and he's in the freezer, along with the other ingredients."

She shook her head, increasing her speed again. "No, he's not dead. You needed him, needed him alive so that you could keep absorbing his mind."

She threw a fast glance back at the table. "Whose soul are you trying to raise, Remy?"

"I thought you'd've guessed that, at least, Ellie. Cesare Krivejko."

She felt the shock penetrate her, as memory of helplessness, of blinding fear and pain and a deep despair rose in her mind. Before Christ's time, the sorcerer of the north. Remy had told her about him, about his life, had been fascinated by the knowledge and power that myth said the man had held. His book had held the ritual that had almost killed her, almost taken the life of her son. She stood still, realised that she was shaking.

"You want to resurrect that … monster?" She couldn't hide her repugnance, or the fear that filled her.

"I don't. No." He shrugged slightly. "But I had to make a deal to get what I wanted, Ellie."

"Remy, this isn't going to be a soul you bring through." She thought of the years, the thousands of years that the sorcerer had been in Hell. "This is going to be a demon of such power you'll never be able to control him."

"It's sweet of you to worry so, but why don't you leave the control of demons to me. I've had slightly more experience with it."

"Remy, please … think about this. He's been in Hell for over two thousand years."

"I know what I'm doing." His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. "Dean hates you, Ellie. Hates that you left him when the archangel came. Hates that you slept with me when he needed you the most. Hates that you never once faltered in your love for him, but he failed you a dozen times."

She recognised the tactic, and pressed him back, trying to ignore the words, although she felt the razor sharp cut of truth in at least some of what he'd said. He was disappearing into the darkness that filled the far end of the room and she needed to finish this now.

The sudden gust of wind that filled the basement blew out every candle on the table and he attacked in the dark with a speed that was unavoidable. She felt the steely strength of his fingers driving into her wrist, pinching the nerves there as the knife fell from her grip, felt the rush of air as he swung an arm, unable to see it to duck or ride the blow she knew was coming. The point of his elbow hit the cluster of nerves behind and below her ear and she dropped instantly, the hard, accurate blow shocking her nervous system into unconsciousness.

He pulled her up, throwing her over his shoulder as he gestured in the direction of the candles again. The flames lit obediently and he picked up the knife, careful to touch only the leather-encased hilt. It _was_ a dilemma, he thought sourly. Half of his implements were silver, for the strength and purity of the element that affected so much in the supernatural and magical planes. He'd had to have them wrapped in something inert to be able to use them.

He carried Ellie across the room, opening the door to the wine cellar. A coil of plastic-coated wire hung from one of the racks and he uncoiled it, binding her ankles and wrists, and running the end length from the loop between her ankles up and around her neck and back to her hands. If she tried to move, she'd throttle herself, he thought with a savage satisfaction that didn't seem much like the longing he'd had for her. The part of him that was the shifter sometimes seemed to be getting stronger. He didn't know why.

When the ritual was done and Usiku came to command the soul, he would be free of the shifter's influence, he thought. He looked down at Ellie, unable to feel anything for her right now. He would deal with the rest when it was time. He looked up, feeling the approach of midnight, and turned abruptly, returning to the main basement.

* * *

"It's bolted, from the other side," Sam said, turning away from the door. "We'll have to go up, find the other way down to the next room."

Dean nodded, hobbling after him as they headed for the stairs back up to the kitchen. Goddamned foot felt as if there was a knife through the centre, and every step he took sent a bolt of pain shooting from the ball straight up his leg, through his groin into his lower back. Must have pinched the nerve with the cut, he thought, setting his teeth against the repeated agony. Sam had eased the bloodied dressing off, and cleaned the wound again, redressing it, but he wasn't carrying painkillers and there was nothing else he could do for it. He looked down, expecting to see blood seeping through again with the movement, but it was still dry and white.

Sam's flashlight lit up the room enough to be able to see that this section of the basement was mostly house-related. The furnace sat like a great black beast against the far wall, the old root cellar and cool room, and the oubliette had been unused for years. A long, industrial freezer sat beside the stairs, humming softly to itself, perhaps the only modern appliance in the space.

They'd reached the kitchen door when they heard the gunshot, muffled and distant from here, but unmistakable.

Sam glanced back at Dean. "Guess Ellie figured out it wasn't you."

Dean gestured abruptly, hobbling faster after his brother, his face tense and set. "She didn't have silver bullets in the SIG, did she?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't think so. We were packing for human and vampire, not thinking about shifters."

"Then she's already in deep shit, Sam. Get moving, I'll follow as fast as I can," he ground out, his leg shaking as he forced himself to move faster. "See if you can find a fucking walking stick or something I can use to get the weight off this foot."

Moving out ahead, Sam shone the beam over the rooms as he passed through, looking for another undressed door, to lead them back down. He came into the main hall, and saw the umbrella stand, several straight sticks protruding from its mouth. Running down, he grabbed the first one, a dark wooden stick with a polished metal grip, and took it back to his brother. Dean gripped it tightly, taking the weight off his foot with a deep exhale of relief, and followed Sam across the entrance hallway, down another corridor.

Remy had been sure she wouldn't know, wouldn't guess, that he could take his place without her being the wiser, he thought, driving himself faster. Since that had obviously failed, would the witch kill her outright, or attempt to achieve his goals in a different way? Either way, he could feel his nerves prickling badly up the back of his neck, could feel time ticking away toward midnight and the moment of the ritual, and his fear for his wife drove him to a half-running gait, clumsy and lopsided and painful, but he couldn't slow down, couldn't take the risk of being too late.

Sam glanced at his watch as he passed the living room and an elegant drawing room. Eleven-fifty. He almost passed the door, set flush with the wall and without ornamentation of any kind, catching sight of the edge as the flashlight beam shadowed it, in the corner of his eye. He spun around, glancing back to see his brother lurching up the hall after him, and reached for the plain iron knob, turning it slowly. The door swung open inwards, and he switched off the light as he saw the glimmer of light from the bottom of the staircase.

They moved down the stairs silently, Dean grimacing as he set the end of the stick down quietly, his progress less than half the speed at which his brother was moving. A memory flashed into his thoughts, _I'm down three toes, too, F.Y.I._ Rufus' voice, fast, jittery at the thought of the imminent electrocution. _Losing a toe wasn't such a big_, he told himself, _just a major fucking inconvenience right now_.

Sam stopped just above the foot of the stairs, sinking slowly onto his haunches as he took in the table in front of them, covered in candles now, the light flickering in some unfelt draught, reflecting in glimmers from the polished metal bowls and the chalice, standing in the centre.

Dean eased himself down onto the step behind him, staring at the table, turning his head slowly to look for the witch who was dressed up in his body.

Lavesseur walked out from behind the half-partition that supported the building above. He was carrying a wrapped bundle, and he stopped short of the table, kneeling on the floor. They could see the faintly lit outlines on the floor, the circle created for the ritual, glowing with its own light. The witch left the bundle in the centre of the circle and walked to the table, picking up a wide-mouthed beaten silver bowl, and the chalice. He returned to the circle, setting the items down, and turned to the edge of the circle, the blade of the knife he held flashing brightly in the candlelight, as he gestured above the circle's perimeter.

"You can come out now, Dean. I can feel you there."

Sam looked back over his shoulder at his brother, seeing his mouth twist up in annoyance. Neither of them had considered the shifter's sensitivity to him. Dean shrugged slightly and nodded.

"Oh, and the brother." Remy looked up as Sam moved out of the shadows first. "Front row seats, gentlemen."

He turned away as Dean hop-lurched out behind Sam, pouring oil into the bowl, the scent of lilies filling the air for a moment as he added them to the contents. Sam looked at his watch and moved to one side of the circle, as Dean nodded to him. He pulled out the Taurus and fired at the witch, who hadn't even looked up. The bullet whined as it struck the edge of the circle, and remained there, four foot above the ground, the nose crumpled as if it had hit a wall.

Remy glanced around. "The circle is closed. There's nothing you have that can penetrate it now."

Dean hobbled to the table, his gaze sweeping across the remaining items on the surface. There were a couple of smaller knives, their blades winking brightly in the candlelight, possibly silver. He picked one up, and hopped to the circle's edge, stabbing at the air. The blade, although silver, was not a ritual knife and it hit the circle's wall, crackling slightly with the impact, the shock travelling up his arm.

Remy lit the contents of the bowl, watching the flames turn from yellow to rose, then amethyst and finally burning with a dark indigo flame, rising and twisting in a wind none of them could feel. The dark light reflected on his skin, making inky shadows under the bones of his face. The flames died together, sinking into the bowl and disappearing and he lifted it, pouring the contents into the chalice beside him.

Both Sam and Dean stepped back unconsciously as the chalice began to glow, the markings standing out in lines of pale gold fire around the darkening curves of the surface. Remy stood, stooping to pick it up and lifted it above his head, his voice, Dean's voice, deep and powerful as he recited the incantation to raise the soul.

The seconds rushed toward midnight and a low moaning filled the stone-enclosed space, making the brothers exchange another glance. They backed up from the circle as the candle flames flickered and bowed, feeling the wind that was gathering in the room now. Remy opened his eyes and poured the contents of the chalice into the centre of the circle, the thick, oily liquid moving out in a pattern on its own, forming a shape that shifted from two-dimensional to three-dimensional as they watched. When the chalice was empty, the witch moved back, to the outer edge of the protective circle, his face and eyes lit up by the rapidly changing light that imbued the liquid, as it spread and interwove itself into a labyrinth around the centre of the circle.

In the middle of the labyrinth, there was a flare of brilliant carnelian light, and a deep, almost subsonic groaning. The intricate design continued to brighten, colours shifting and changing from one to another as they moved counter-clockwise around the ribbon-like structure, but inside darkness was growing, a blackness that looked as wrong in this world as anything Dean had ever seen. It throbbed in time with an unheard, unfelt pulse, and he could see something moving within its depths as it reached up toward the ceiling.

A demon. The thought came from nowhere but he was sure of it. The soul that Lavesseur had raised had been in the pit for a long time, and what was emerging had nothing left of humanity. He could feel the evil as the darkness took form, radiating outward from it, pressing against his mind like a filthy tide of black water, curling around him and filling his thoughts with images of depravity, of atrocity and genocide and torture and a frightening laughter, a gleeful ecstasy in the anguish of others. He looked at Sam, seeing his face screwed up, eyes shut tightly as he fought off the same images.

At the outer edge of the circle, the witch's face was slack and blank, his eyes fixed to the coalescing shape in front of him, sweat glistening on his forehead and neck. Asshole had had no idea of what he was calling, Dean thought furiously.

The demon towered over Lavesseur, the hooded and cowled head brushing the ceiling, the light from the gate throwing the skull-like face into sharp relief. As the gate began to fade, it stepped free, into the confines of the circle, turning slowly to look around the space, the thin flesh pulling back from the teeth in a sepulchral smile. It looked down at the witch, cowering now against the edge of the circle, and reached out a long arm, the fingers that emerged from the sleeve of the robe, bones held together with tattered flesh and shrunken black tendons.

Behind Dean, the door at the other end of the room slammed open and a gust of wind swept into the room, extinguishing the candles on the table and dissolving the last fading light of the gate. The demon swung around and the hem of its robe swirled out, breaking the edge of the circle with the crack of thunder.

Remy fell backwards out of the circle, his hand blackened and withered where the demon's fingertip had touched it. Sam reached for the gun that was tucked against his lower back, pulling it out in a smooth flowing move, the long black barrel swinging around and the sight lining up with the demon's face. Dean dove toward the edge of the circle, arms outstretched as he reached for the chalice that the witch had dropped.

The single shot and the scream of rage from the darkness on the other side of the room were simultaneous.


	57. Chapter 57 Lesser of Two Evils

**Chapter 57**

* * *

The bullet from the Colt hit the demon at the junction between eyes and nose. Sam spun away, throwing his hand over his face as the demon exploded with light, the blast wave sweeping outward. It knocked him from his feet, sent the witch rolling across the floor, and the table and its contents cartwheeling into the wall. Dean ducked his head into his arms as he felt it pass over him, the miasma of evil shredded and dissipating into the cold air. He looked up warily. The chalice still lay, unmoved, in front of him, but everything else in the circle and surrounding it had been blown away, the circle itself brushed from the stone flags. He reached out for the chalice, fingers curling around the handle.

"Dean, always in the worst place at the worst time."

The deep, cultured voice hit him like a whip and he rolled onto his back, struggling up on his elbows, the chalice gripped tightly against his ribs.

Dark moving against the darkness at the end of the room. Sam picked up his flashlight, flicking the beam on, and they saw the smooth coffee skin, the white flash of teeth, the glitter of pale eyes.

"Hand it over, and I'll let her live." Usiku drew Ellie out from behind him, the wire binding still holding her. The vampire held her easily off the ground with one hand, and in the light of the flashlight, her hair gleamed brightly, unmistakably.

Dean rolled onto his side, shifting his weight over his uninjured foot as he got up slowly. He looked at the deep, reddened lines around Ellie's throat, where the wire pressed into her skin.

"Let her go." He held out the chalice.

Behind him, Sam changed his grip on the Colt, his thumb pressing down on the hammer, the small click hidden by the scrape of his foot along the floor.

"Put the chalice on the floor, Dean." Usiku walked toward them, shifting his grip on Ellie and holding her in front of him, her body bowed backward, her breathing rasping desperately in the quiet of the room. "My patience is wearing thin."

The unblinking gaze shifted to Sam. "The boy without a soul. I see it was returned to you. What a shame, you had so much potential."

Sam returned the stare. "Sorry to disappoint you."

Usiku laughed softly. "If only that were true."

"Why did you want the demon raised?"

The vampire stopped and looked at Sam speculatively. "The demon was a source of knowledge. Old knowledge. There was a way to achieve my plans in a much shorter time frame." He looked back to Dean. "Put it down. I am already irritated by your intervention in this matter, and it wouldn't take more than the slightest pressure in the right place to kill her."

"No!" Remy staggered up from beneath the canted table, blood spreading down one side of his face, the cheekbone and arch of the brow shattered, the eye within the broken socket leaking out onto his cheek. "We had a deal."

Usiku glanced at him, eyes half-closing in contempt. "You were to raise the soul, Lavesseur. You failed."

"You said you could burn the shapeshifter from me, you promised I would be human again." He tripped over the chair in his path, falling to his knees.

"I lied." The vampire shrugged slightly. "Nothing can turn you back to human." He looked back at Dean.

The witch lunged forward, hands outstretched and reaching for the vampire. Usiku dropped Ellie and turned, so fast that none of them saw him move. Sam lifted the Colt, aiming and firing at the ancient blood-drinker as he snapped Lavesseur's neck and swung the limp body around. The bullet hit the witch in the spine, and the vampire dropped the body, crossing the distance to Sam in a vague blur, before he could even cock the gun again. He felt the long-nailed fingers driving into his wrist and watched the gun arching away into the darkness, then he was alone and the vampire stood in front of Dean, Ellie again held helpless in his grip.

"I can feel your thoughts churning around, Dean, _what can I do, how can I save her_ – put them out of your mind, there is nothing you can do against me, not even if you are prepared to sacrifice her." The pale eyes stared into Dean's. "Put the chalice down."

Dean lowered the goblet to the floor in front of him. "Let her go."

"Back away, Dean, you and your brother, or I'll snap her spine right now."

He swallowed and hopped back, the jarring movement reawakening the pain in his foot as he felt Sam move beside him.

"Very good. You see how easy things can be if everyone does as they're told?"

"Just let her go." Dean looked at him.

"I believe what I said was that I would let her live." Usiku bent and picked up the chalice, smiling very slightly. His movements blurred, and Dean's eyes widened in horror as he saw the dripping cut on the vampire's wrist, saw blood spill from the mouth of the chalice, Usiku bending over Ellie, kneeling on the floor, his fingers digging into her jaw muscles, forcing her mouth open.

He stumbled forward, forgetting the pain, forgetting everything as he watched the blood spill into her mouth and overflow it, saw her gag and struggle for air against the wire around her throat and the liquid that filled it.

Sam spun away, scrambling across the stone flags, his fingers reaching for the Colt as he rolled onto his shoulder and lined the front sight up with the vampire's chest, pulling the trigger.

The bullet passed through the empty air where Usiku had been, drilling into the closed door at the end of the room as the lock clicked loudly.

Dean reached Ellie, as she fell onto her side, coughing, trying to draw her legs higher behind her to free the constriction of the wire around her throat at the same time as she tried to roll over. The wire eased and she dragged in a breath, swallowing the blood as she did, unable to spit it all out. He unwound the wire binding her, his arm supporting her as she kept coughing, the Alpha's blood spraying over the stone floor.

He looked up at Sam, as his brother knelt beside them, his face twisted in anguish.

"We've got the cure in Oregon, Dean. We just need the Alpha's blood. We can turn her back."

Dean nodded, looking down at Ellie as her breathing eased. He didn't say it out loud, and Sam remained silent. Neither of them knew where the vampire had gone.

* * *

Ellie lay in the back seat of the Impala, eyes closed, feeling the changes progress through her body. She was frightened. Not just any vampire's blood but the Alpha's. Did it make a difference? Did it make it stronger? Would the cure work on her, with that blood flowing through her veins? She pushed away the speculations and the emotions that ebbed and flowed with them, curling up as another deep cramp hit her stomach.

She could hear their heartbeats, Dean's a shaky _presto tremolo_, Sam's more like a _fortissimo vigoroso_. She could hear the blood rushing through the blood vessels of their bodies, a distant soft hiss, like waves on the shore of a sandy beach, louder and gentler with every pump of their hearts. She could hear the rasp of Dean's breath in his throat, and the creak of the tendons in his hands as he gripped the steering wheel of the black car, the rustle of Sam's hair brushing the glass of the window beside him. Under those, the deep roar of the engine and the hiss of the tyres over the surface of the road were a steady loud background, not so loud as to be unbearable, but loud enough to drown out most of her thoughts.

Her mouth hurt. It felt as if the bones were shifting, mutating. She supposed that they were, making room for the second set of teeth that could descend over the first.

She drew in a breath, smelling the coppery tang of blood in the car, the acrid bite of the scent of fear, the whiskey and gun oil and solvent that had soaked into the upholstery and carpet of the Impala over the years. The gear bag was in the trunk, but she could smell the vervain and hawthorn in it from here, the herbs' odours making her nerve ends twitch slightly. Another cramp hit her, and she curled up tighter. How long before the imperative to feed became too much to bear, she wondered? How long did they have to get Usiku's blood and turn her back?

Not long. Not long enough, she suspected. She would have to tell him. Tell him to bind her with silver and vervain, drug her with dead man's blood so that she couldn't harm them when the bloodlust became so great that it broke past her will's control. She could feel, with some sense other than her physical ones, the progression of the night. It would be dawn soon and the sunlight would burn her, would hurt her eyes. She needed to be under cover, in the darkness, before then. She straightened up, pushing herself to sit upright.

"Dean."

"Ellie, it's going to be alright. We're going to get the cure, okay?" He looked at the road ribboning ahead of him, at the small section that the headlights illuminated ahead of them.

"The sun is going to rise soon, and I need darkness," she said quietly. "The Alpha – Usiku – he's going to Rome. To the Illuminati, to get the rest of the clock."

"How do you –" Sam turned in his seat to look at her.

"I just do. A connection with him. He can feel my thoughts, I can feel him probing at them, but I can feel his too, when he's not alert, when he's not hiding himself."

She met Dean's eyes in the rearview mirror. "I don't know how long I'm going to be able to control the impulse, the compulsion."

She didn't need to spell it out, they both knew what she was talking about. "You need to get dead man's blood, a lot of it."

Sam glanced at his brother, as Dean tensed. Ellie could hear the muscles contract, hear the sharply indrawn breath.

"Don't argue, Dean. You know how this will go." She leaned back against the seat, eyes closing as they passed under the brilliance of the streetlight, her voice becoming softer, a little dreamy. "Krivejko experimented on vampires, a long time ago. Tried to find out what the secret of them was. He found it was a disease, of a kind. Transmitted through the blood, petrifying the cells, enhancing the senses. Usiku wanted to recreate the disease, to release it across the world, to make millions of vampires, not just thousands."

Sam looked at Dean. "Ellie, how do you know this?"

"He was the first, the first one Eve made. In his blood is all the knowledge, everything that the vampire needed to know, the way to call them, the link between them. He hasn't made a fledgling for a thousand years. He forgot about the link. The link of the blood."

"Can you feel where he is? What he's doing, Ellie?"

"He's in a plane. Flying east." She opened her eyes and looked at him. "He wants the clock now. He wants to go back, to find the secret."

* * *

Dean pulled off the road and turned off the engine, sliding from the driver's seat and hurrying around to the trunk. He pulled out a blanket and the vervain, focussing tightly on what he needed to think, trying to block out his feelings and thoughts.

He passed the herbs to Sam, and opened the rear door, shaking out the blanket and spreading it over her. They couldn't stop for the hours the sun was going to be in the sky, it was another two days' drive to get back home.

They'd stopped at Hanover, a coupe of hours ago, Dean going to the ER, the stump of his toe cleaned and stitched and dressed, while Sam had broken into the morgue and extracted several pints of dead man's blood. Taking shifts, he thought they would get across the country in around forty-six hours. The Watchers and Trish would look after Ellie while he and Sam went after the Alpha. He didn't think of what would happen if they failed.

"Ellie." He knelt on the floor beside the rear seat, smoothing back the hair from her forehead.

Ellie's eyes opened and he swallowed as he saw the redness in them, her pupils contracted to pinpoints. In the yellowish light of the car's interior lamp, her skin was already paling, the warmth fading away.

"It's okay." Her gaze shifted to the east, although the sun wouldn't rise for another hour. "It isn't bad yet."

He nodded. "You'll sleep, today. Tonight, when you wake up, we'll start with the dead man's blood, alright?"

She looked at him. "I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault," he said quickly, feeling his chest tighten. "We can fix this, Ellie, don't give up, don't give in to it."

"No." She closed her eyes. "Dean, if … if it goes wrong, if it doesn't work –"

"It'll work," he said, his hand closing around her fingers hard.

"Yeah." She opened her eyes, looking into his, the red dimming for a second. "But if it doesn't, make sure that I can't hurt anyone. Promise."

He looked away. "I will."

She closed her eyes again and turned away from him, rolling over. He pulled the blanket up until she covered completely from head to foot and backed out of the car, shutting the door quietly. He was aware that Sam was watching him, and he shook his head, opening the driver's door and getting in.

"Four-hour shifts?" Sam closed the passenger door behind him as he got in, hunching into the corner.

"Yeah." He glanced over at his brother. "I'll wake you at Rochester."

Sam nodded, closing his eyes.

Dean started the engine and pulled out, glancing back at the still figure under the blanket in the back seat. They had the ingredients for the cure, and he was living proof that the recipe was good. They only needed the Alpha's blood to complete it. He would take the head of the vampire one way or the other, he thought, feeling the bitter fury burning along his nerves.

He'd been angry at Sam, when he'd been turned, for not taking care of it. Sam had had other motivations for keeping him alive in the vampire state, and had known of Samuel's cure in any case. But he thought that the part of his brother that had remained his brother, even without a soul, had been unable to do it anyway. And he knew that he wouldn't be able to kill Ellie, not even to save an innocent life. Not even to save his own. There were things he could do, and there were things he couldn't and this just fell into the latter category.

He thrust the thought aside impatiently, his control already stretched too thin for it. He couldn't think about anything other than fixing this, getting the cure, getting her back. He needed to figure out a way of following the bloodsucker, something that didn't involve a plane flight, if possible. He thought of Lavesseur's files. Sam had been through all of them.

Once she was safe, they were going to have to get the clock – at least one of the pieces anyway. They had some time. It was another four weeks to December 31, before the clock would become activated.

* * *

Sam pulled off into a rest stop half an hour before sunset.

"Dean." He turned off the engine and took one of the syringes from the bag on the seat beside him.

Dean woke reluctantly, fighting to hold onto the fragments of his dreams, dreams of being at home, being with his family, dreams that hadn't included dead man's blood or vampires.

"Yeah." He rubbed a hand over his face and looked over at Sam.

"It's almost dusk." Sam glanced into the back seat. "She's been moving around, I think it's time."

Reality returned. Dean twisted around, seeing Ellie moving restlessly on the seat. He nodded, and opened the car door, sliding out. Sam moved down the other side of the car, opening the rear door and passing the syringe to his brother as Dean pulled the blanket back.

Both men thought they'd prepared themselves for what they would see, but neither had, not really. Ellie opened her eyes and they were red, the irises almost covered by the thin film across them. She sat up fast, and Dean felt himself dying a little inside as he watched her lips draw back, baring her teeth at him, the second set of sharply pointed fangs descending as she lunged toward him. Sam grabbed her arms, muscles bulging suddenly as he fought to keep them pinned behind her, her strength enormous now.

Dean pulled the cap from the needle with his teeth, shutting out the low animal snarl, the sight of her eyes, of her smooth, polished-looking white skin, the faint scent of rotting flowers that she was exuding. He reached out and gripped her face, turning her head away from him as he stabbed the end of the needle into the carotid artery in her neck and depressed the plunger.

Her shriek filled the car, assaulting their ears, a feral mix of rage and anguish. He pulled the needle out, dropping it onto the floor as he held onto her. Sam lost his grip on her arms at the same time as she wrenched her jaw from Dean's grasp, and her hands flashed forward and closed around his throat. She looked at him, eyes narrowed in hunger and he couldn't move, couldn't even breathe through the pain that was crushing his heart.

Her fingers loosened, falling away from his neck, and the red dimmed in her eyes as the lids fluttered shut. He caught her as she fell sideways, the dead man's blood drowning her consciousness, holding her limp body tightly against his chest. He looked over her head at his brother, struggling to breathe.

"It's not her, Sam."

"I know."

"We have to get her back."

"I know." Sam looked at him. "We will."

Dean nodded, easing her down onto the seat, and pulling the blanket back up over her. He bent over her, resting his cheek against the hard, cold plane of hers and fought back against the grief that was filling him, tears spilling over and falling onto her. He felt Sam's hand on his shoulder.

"We've got to get going. That'll only last a few hours."

Dean nodded, lifting his head and wiping his eyes. _Put it away_, he told himself, _bury it deep because you're not gonna be able to function if you don't_. He'd thought he'd known what to expect. Thought that because he'd gone through it himself, he'd be able to take it. He'd been wrong. Nothing could have prepared for seeing her like that, the woman he loved turned into a mindlessly savage predator, turned into a monster. _Bury it and get on with what you have to do to stop it_.

By the time they reached Bend, their world had narrowed to the crazy routine of driving, sleeping and watching Ellie, injecting the dead man's blood and keeping her covered with the blanket. Twice she'd woken before they'd been aware of it, the second time nearly sending them off a cliff as she'd lunged across the back of the front seat, fingers curled into talons, half-dragging Dean over the seat before Sam regained control of the car and stopped, the syringe going into her neck.

Sam turned onto the narrow gravel road, the familiar landmarks filling him with relief. He didn't think that his brother could take much more. Ellie's skin looked like marble, hard and gleaming and as white as snow, her eyes burning a fierce red against it. The fangs hadn't retracted after the last attempted attack, and they could see them between her parted lips, preventing Dean from even being to pretend that she was just sleeping. Her strength had increased hundredfold, the two of them together could hardly keep her restrained, their only advantage was that in the confined space of the car, she couldn't use the techniques she'd spent her life learning, and the combined disorientation of becoming a vampire and being drugged all the time, had limited her to using only strength against them, not her knowledge or her skill.

He bumped over the buried iron tracks between the gates with a deep sigh of relief, as he saw Baraquiel and Talya, Twist and Katherine and Dwight standing on the steps of the house, waiting for them. The last dose had been three hours ago, they should have enough time to get her into the basement before she came to again.

"Dean, we're home." He reached out and shook him lightly.

Dean sat up and looked over the back of the seat automatically. Ellie was still under the blanket. He knuckled his eyes and looked around as Sam pulled up in front of the house, opening the door as soon as they'd stopped, and getting into the back, to wrap the blanket tightly around Ellie. He slipped his arms under her shoulders and knees and backed out slowly, taking her weight as he came clear of the car frame.

"I'll take her, Dean, you look exhausted." Dwight appeared beside him, and he shook his head, his arms tightening around her, rolling her slightly into himself.

"I'm fine. Have you got more dead man's blood here?"

Dwight nodded, and followed him up the stairs and into the house.

"There's a root that we can add to it," he said, glancing back over his shoulder at Katherine.

"Tallis root." Katherine came up beside Dean. "Baraquiel found a mention in the Watcher's records. It helps to reduce the bloodlust, helps them to shut it out."

"Good." He turned for the basement door, and Dwight hurried ahead to open it. "It's been nearly three days and the hunger is killing her."

He walked slowly down the stairs. Most of the basement had been turned into a library, but at the end where the foundations of the house met the bedrock of the mountain, they'd built a panic room, a bastion of last defence, Ellie had called it.

The doubled walls were solid iron sheets, and the cavity between them was packed with salt and talismans, bones and herbs and graveyard dirt. _It's a giant hex bag_, Sam had smiled as they'd packed it. Guaranteed to keep the monsters out … or in, if they needed it.

The single cot sat in the middle of the room, bolted through the iron floor. Dean laid Ellie on it gently, his control fracturing a little more as he looked at the multiple needle marks that patterned the side of her neck. The handcuffs that were locked to either side of the cot, around the iron legs, were silver, and someone had threaded vervain and hawthorn through and around the chains. The plants were efficacious against vampires, not defeating them but robbing them of at least some of their power and strength. He locked the 'cuffs around her wrists and turned away, his face tight with tension.

"Frank's been monitoring the available surveillance cameras in Rome." Katherine walked next to him as he headed for the stairs. "The Alpha arrived there two days ago, but he hasn't made a move yet."

Dean stopped and looked at her. "Anyone have any ideas why?"

Dwight shook his head. "No. From what Sam said when he called, we were hoping Ellie might be able to tell us."

"I don't know that she's going to be able to tell us anything else," he told the older man bleakly.

Katherine looked at Dwight and shook her head slightly, stepping forward and taking Dean's arm. "Come on, there's food and coffee upstairs, you need to get some rest."

He allowed her to lead him back up the stairs.

* * *

He watched Baraquiel mix the powdered root into the blood. The dose of the dead man's blood was far less than he and Sam had been giving her, the root was supposed to kick in after the sedative effect of the blood was established.

Ellie hadn't yet woken, and he looked down at her, his heart twisting in his chest. John and Rosie had both been clamouring to see their mother, demanding to know where she was and why they couldn't see her and why they couldn't come home. Trish had watched him with an anguished sympathy as he'd tried to think of something to say to them. Mary Winchester had been taken from her sons when he'd been four. The symmetry hadn't been lost on him, had sparked a dread that they hadn't escaped their curse after all.

With the addition of the powdered root, the blood had turned a purplish-blue, and he watched as Baraquiel injected it into Ellie's arm, the colour vivid for a moment under her skin as it moved up the blood vessel, then fading away. Her breathing hitched and stopped and he stepped closer, heart stuttering against his ribs, then she took a long, deeper breath, and he turned away, lifting his hand and wiping it over his mouth, the constant see-saw of fear grinding into him.

"How long before she wakes?" He turned back to Baraquiel.

"A few minutes, no more than half an hour." The Watcher looked at him worriedly. "Set your mind at rest, Dean. This has been well-documented."

Dean tipped his head back, closing his eyes. Nothing was going to set his mind at rest until she was back, herself again, the Alpha's blood burned out of her body and the creature dead and gone.

He heard the faint clink of the cuff against the leg of the cot and turned, walking across and kneeling beside the narrow bed as Ellie moved again. When her eyes opened, the relief he felt at seeing the clear jade-green irises again almost undid him.

"Dean?" She turned her head, lifting her hand against the restraint.

"It's okay, we're home." He leaned forward, brushing his fingertips along her cheek. "You remember what happened?"

She closed her eyes and nodded. "Usiku turned me."

"Baraquiel added some kind of root to the dead man's blood," he said quietly. "He says that it'll help you to fight the need to drink."

"Where're John and Rosie?"

"They're at Sam's place, with Trish. They're fine. They miss you." He didn't know what he was trying to say to her. "I told them you were sick."

Her lips twisted into a sardonic smile. "Sick. Yeah."

"Can you still feel the Alpha, Ellie?" He looked down at his hand, resting against the edge of the cot.

She tilted her head slightly, eyes closing again. "He's waiting. In a house … I can see St Peter's, through the window." She looked at him. "It's not as strong as it was."

"The root probably, cutting off the connection." He shrugged. "It's enough. You're going to stay here. Me and Sam'll go and get his blood."

"No."

His eyes narrowed at the implacable tone in her voice. "This isn't a discussion."

She smiled. "You're right. You need me there with you, Dean. You need me to find him."

"It's too risky. You could-" He stopped, unable to finish that sentence, looking down at the cuffs holding her to the cot. "I can't take that risk."

"You won't find him without me," she hesitated for a second. "And if you have to come all the way back here, the blood might not work in the cure."

"I'll take that chance."

"I won't." She looked up at him. "This isn't your decision to make."

"It _is_ my decision," he snapped at her, "because if anything goes wrong, if anything happens, I'm the one who's gonna have to – to –"

He stood up and walked away.

"It doesn't matter," she said very softly. "The people who are capable of doing the job have the responsibility of seeing that the job gets done, Dean."

"This isn't fair." He turned back to her. "This isn't right."

"I know."

"Why us? Why is it always us?" He walked back to the cot, dropping to his knees beside it.

"Because we can, I guess." She drew in a deep breath. "Only another vampire can take the Alpha, Dean."

He looked at her, realising that she'd already thought all of this through. "You're not even a full vampire, Ellie. You're not strong enough to take him on."

"That doesn't matter either. I'm the only one who has even the slightest chance against him, and you know that," she said. "You took out an entire nest – a huge nest – when you were turned. You know that you couldn't have done it without the powers that being a vampire gave you."

He looked away. "We don't even know how to get over there in time, Ellie. Let alone taking a half-drugged vampire on a flight with us."

"Castiel can take us."

He blinked at her. He hadn't even thought of the angel. "He'll try and go for the clock, if he knows that all the pieces are there."

"Probably," she agreed. "And we'll have to do something about that. And it might seem like I'm putting myself above the fate of the world, but my first priority is really to take the cure and kill Usiku."

He shook his head. "Yeah. Mine too."

"Take off the cuffs, Dean." She looked down at them, encircling her wrists. "I need to see if I can control myself by will alone."

"How do you feel?"

"Clear. Like myself again." She stared past him, eyes a little unfocussed as she assessed her physical state. "I can feel the hunger, low down, but it's under lock and key."

He pulled the key from his pocket and started to lift the one closest to him.

"Get a machete, first."

Looking into her eyes, he saw how serious she was. He got up and went to the weapons rack, screwed into the wall opposite the door. He pulled one of the thick, long blades from it and tested the edge against the ball of his thumb. It was sharp. He walked back to the cot and slipped the key into the cuff, the lock making a small click as the arm sprang free. Leaning over her, he unlocked the other wrist, and sat back as she sat up, rubbing her wrists lightly.

Her eyes were still clear when she looked up at him. It was still his wife who looked out at him. He extended his hand, taking hers and drawing her to her feet.

"Is the light too bright?" He looked down at her, the machete still in his hand, hanging loosely by his side.

"No. My eyes have started to adjust, I think. Hearing too. The first couple of days in the car, I could hear everything all the time." She looked around the room. "Now, it's more distant. I can still hear something if I choose to listen for it, but it's not booming in my ears."

He nodded uncertainly. He'd never reached that stage. "Do you think you'll know when the effects of the root starts to wear off?"

He was afraid that one minute she'd be fighting on their side, the next she'd have joined forces with the Alpha, she realised with a faint, humourless smile. "I think I'll know. I wouldn't join with him anyway, Dean. You had no loyalty to him when you were turned."

He nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting in an uncomfortable smile. "Just a thought."

They both turned as the door opened and Sam walked in, followed closely by Baraquiel and Katherine.

"How long does the effect of the root last, Baraquiel?" Ellie looked at the Watcher.

"Twenty-four hours. I've prepared another dose, in case it's needed." He walked toward her, stopping as she stepped back.

She saw the flash of confusion in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm not … I'm not all me."

He nodded, turning away from her. Dean looked at Sam.

"You ready?"

"Which airport do you want to fly out from?" Sam glanced at Ellie then back to his brother.

"Angel Airline." Dean closed his eyes. "Cas? Castiel, the Alpha has the chalice, and we need your help. Come on down."

The flutter of wings was very loud in the small room. "Where is he?"

"You're taking some passengers." Dean looked at him. "Sam and Ellie and me."

Castiel took a step toward him and stopped, staring at Ellie. "What happened?"

"He turned her," Dean answered shortly. "Let's get going."


	58. Chapter 58 Fortes Fortuna Adiuvat

**Chapter 58**

* * *

They stood together on the bend of the narrow Via di Porta Fabbrica, the buildings surrounding them in muted shades of ochre and red, cream and grey, the single streetlight throwing a feeble yellow light over the road and casting the doorways and porticos into shadow.

Ellie looked around. "He's close."

Dean looked at Sam. Both had bags slung over their shoulders, packed with the gear they thought they'd need. Dean slid the machete from the sheath at his hip, the long blade winking in the dingy light.

"Which way?"

"Wait." She turned slowly, her eyes half-closed, nostrils flared as she drew in a deep breath of the cool night air, her brain separating the scents that accompanied it, faster than thought. "There's a nest nearby … a huge nest."

She opened her eyes and looked northwest, her eyes widening slightly. "Old vampires, young ones, more than sixty of them, on the edge of the Gardens."

"The Alpha's not with them?" Dean looked around the deserted street, feeling highly exposed.

"No. He's …" Her eyelids drooped again, and she turned away from them, walking a couple of steps along the road. "… he's there."

She looked up at the top floor of the building next door to the one they stood in front of. "He doesn't know we're here, not yet."

"The nest can wait." Sam glanced at Dean, who nodded.

Castiel stood to one side, watching them. "I'll check the building."

Dean and Sam turned to look at him. He remained where he was, a frown drawing his brows together slowly.

"No juice again?" Dean lifted an eyebrow.

"Uh, it would appear not." Castiel looked up at the building. "Perhaps Eve taught her first-borns more than I'd realised."

Dean exhaled gustily. "In that case, you better hang back, Cas."

He looked around to see Ellie at the door of the building, the Hungarian sword she'd insisted on bringing in her hand. She stood half in the shadow, and Dean realised he could barely see her, the light bending around her somehow. The sight sent an icy shiver down his spine.

"Come on," he said to Sam, crossing to the narrow sidewalk and walking along the side of the building toward her.

She vanished into the darkness of the doorway as soon as they started to move and he swore softly to himself, hurrying to catch up. The door was ajar when they reached it and he and Sam slipped through into a black hallway. There was a faint scraping noise to his right and he followed it, hand reaching for the wall that he knew had to be there, feeling for the bottom step of the stairs with his foot.

He couldn't call out to her, couldn't risk making the slightest noise himself, and he stared into the blackness, feeling his eyes widening in a vain attempt to get more light. Behind him, Sam moved slowly, sensing more than seeing his brother ahead of him.

Ellie had stopped on the landing, and he almost ran into her, seeing the very faint outline of her against the lighter hallway ahead just in time. Her head was cocked to one side.

"He's gone."

Dean couldn't see her face, but her voice, filled with uncertainty and disbelief, gave him a good idea of what expression was on it.

"What do you mean, gone?" he whispered back.

She shook her head. "He was there, in the room. Then he was just gone."

"Did he sense us?" Sam leaned past Dean. "Sense you? Is he blocking you out?"

"I don't think so." She looked up at the ceiling. "I can still feel him, he's just not here anymore."

"What, he can fly now?" Dean asked, his fear expressed in irritation. "Or teleport?"

"No. I don't think so." Ellie looked back at him. "That's not in any lore I've ever read. But he does move fast, faster than the human eye can see … I just didn't get a feeling that he was moving."

"The tallis root might be blocking you, Ellie," Sam suggested. "Katherine said it was supposed to help with shutting off the craving, maybe it's shutting off some of the other stuff?"

"Maybe."

"Do you know where he is now?" Dean asked, aware that he was uncomfortable with talking about this, uncomfortable even thinking about it. The vamp powers might be useful right now, but he hated knowing that she had them, that she was something now he would've killed, if it had been anyone else.

She walked away from them, along the narrow hall. At the end a window let in the city's light.

"He's in there." She looked between the buildings at the brilliantly lit dome of St Peter's Basilica.

"He's in the Vatican?" Sam looked over her head. "I thought he was looking for the Illuminati."

She half-turned to him, smiling a little, though it didn't reach her eyes. "That's where they're based, Sam. Half of the members are citizens of Vatican City."

"Awesome." Dean turned away from the window, leaning back against the wall. "So now we have to break into the Pope's place?"

"Not quite." She closed her eyes. "He's going through St Peter's. I think he will be heading for the libraries."

Dean looked at her, feeling her getting further from him with every passing minute. He didn't know how long he was going to be able to hold onto his fear, how long he could pretend that she wasn't changing in front of him.

"Chasing him is a waste of time. We know what he's after, we should be going to the source."

"Yeah, that's definitely what we should be doing. Do you know where the Illuminati are hiding the pieces of the clock?" Her voice was laced with sarcasm.

He looked away, the sting in her words surprising and unsettling him. Sam looked from Ellie to Dean.

"Well, we'll go for the libraries then. They're grouped on the northern side of St Peter's."

Ellie seemed to melt away into the shadows of the stairs, invisible and soundless. Dean pulled out his flashlight, flicking it on and following her down, feeling a trickle of sweat course down his spine. He was losing her. To the blood of the Alpha, to the powers that were consuming her. He had no idea of what to do about it.

* * *

Ellie waited with Castiel on the street. She'd wanted to apologise to Dean for the remark, but she couldn't make the words come out, a part of her baulking at the feeling, contemptuous and uncaring of the hurt it caused. Even when they emerged from the dark doorway, she had to restrain herself from going on ahead of them, fighting against an overwhelming feeling of disdain for mortals who moved so slowly.

It wasn't alien, that part, wasn't something the vampire blood had incubated in her. It was the intolerance of her youth, magnified by the vampire blood after years of temperance. In the years of hunting before she'd met Michael, she'd felt the same pride, the same arrogance in her skill, incognizant of the closeness of some of the encounters she'd had, of how reckless and stupid she'd been. Experience had taught her to be cautious, to be prepared, to be aware of every single detail, but the blood in her veins sneered at those concepts, and what remained of her humanity realised that this was why young vampires were so easy to kill, so easy to trap and destroy, this overblown confidence in their abilities, in their power.

She turned and started walking north as they got close, struggling against the contempt and arrogance, trying to force them down. She would need every bit of her experience, and her mind cool and remote before she took on the Alpha.

They crossed the Lungolevere Vaticano and slipped again into the shadows of the buildings that flanked the Basilica, Ellie moving slightly west to the darkness of the gardens. Behind her, the two men and angel followed without speaking, wary of the nest she'd told them about, about the range of the senses of the Alpha.

It was almost six hundred yards from the southern side of the Basilica to the libraries, curving around through the light and shadows of the gardens. Ellie became aware of a buzzing in her mind as they approached the buildings, a buzzing that was growing, reaching through her nervous system and filling her with an insatiable itch, an itch of hunger. She stopped by the western doors, turning to look into the night.

"What's wrong?" Dean's voice was barely a whisper as he stopped beside her.

"Something's coming." She stared past him, her eyes vividly bright against the white of her skin. The buzzing was increasing, getting louder in her mind, resolving itself into thoughts and whispers.

"Oh god, get the door open!" She spun around, moving faster than they could see, the heel of her hand slamming against the thick timber door. The jamb splintered under the force of the blow, releasing the lock. "It's the nest, get inside!"

They ran blind, through the long dark halls of the building, following her flickering shape ahead of them, hearing the distant echoes behind, gaining, getting louder, as the vampires poured through the entrance and filled the rooms and halls, not footfalls but a noise like the chittering of bats, barely within the range of human perception. Dean gripped the sharkskin hilt of his machete, lungs pumping like bellows as he strained to keep Ellie in sight. He could hear the flap of the angel's coat beside him, the heavy thud of his brother's boots hitting the marble floors on his right. He skidded as he saw the bright flash of her hair turning into a room to the left, pushing Cas with his shoulder to make the turn. They ran through the wide doorway, half-falling down the short flight of steps that led down from the door, into a long book-lined room. Polished tables stood in the centre, and an iron spiral staircase in one corner led to a gallery above. There was no other exit in view.

Ellie slammed the doors shut behind them as Sam came through, tearing a part of the iron balustrade that framed the steps from its anchor and shoving it through the thick metal handles, twisting the metal bar tight. Dean felt his eyes widen and his heart drop as he watched her. She swiped her hand across the light switches in the panel beside the door and a dozen overhead lamps came on, lighting the room.

"Get your weapons, this won't hold them," she hissed at them, striding deeper into the room, and pushing aside several of the heavy oak tables to make room in the centre. They dropped their bags, Castiel drawing his angel sword, Dean and Sam hefting machetes. From the scabbard hanging across her back, Ellie pulled the Hungarian sword she'd taken from Kasha's apartment, the bright metal winking in the soft, golden light of the overhead lamps.

She looked over her shoulder at the men and angel. "Back to back. Some are old. You won't see them move. Let your instincts guide you if your eyes fail."

The doors boomed at the first blow, bowing inwards as lock and handles and hinges were tested. The second blow shattered them and the vampires exploded into the room, glittering eyes narrowed against the light, fangs extended and lips drawn back, the stench of the undead, a reek of decaying roses and decomposing flesh, filling the space with the draught from the open doorway. The first of them swept down the stairs and Dean saw Ellie's sword flicker and blink, moving so fast that he was really just catching the movement of the light reflected from the blade as she sent their heads flying to opposite sides of the room. More pressed and pushed in, flowing down the stairs and then he had no time to do anything but swing and slash with his own blade, training taking over, reaction dictating everything with no thought or strategy, no feelings or recognition.

He heard Sam's grunt as a vamp fastened itself to his brother's shoulder, and he was twisting, his machete slicing through the neck and the body dropping to the floor. On the other side, Cas' tri-edged sword was glowing through the blood that covered it hilt to tip, an odd, eerie red light that at least marked the angel's position. And still there were more fangs, and he could feel himself tiring through the adrenalin that pumped through his body, his blade getting heavier, harder to lift.

From the corner of his eye, he saw something drop from the gallery and spun around, machete sweeping up as a man plunged into the midst of the vampires, holding two swords, one longer than the other, both blurred as he carved his way through the fangs expertly.

"This way!" The man shouted to him, backing toward a bookcase. Dean started to move, felt air shift in front of his face, heard the hiss of metal as it passed close by and saw the bounce of a head next to his feet. He hadn't seen the vamp or the blade Ellie held, the end now dripping blood as she stood above the body, her face cold and distant. He half-turned, reaching out to grip Sam's sleeve, and Cas' coat, tugging at them as he raised his blade again and they fought their way after the man. He looked behind them as he felt the bookcase solid against his shoulder, and saw the vampires pressing closer.

The shelf swung away from him and he stumbled into darkness, feeling the coolness of the stone tunnel against his face, breathing in untainted air instead of the fetor in the room behind them. He heard Sam swear, felt him crash into his back, smelled briefly the scent of rotten flowers as Ellie slipped past him, then the light from the library room vanished as the bookcase closed behind them. Sam's flashlight lit up and the man pushed between them, his own flashlight coming on, sending a bright beam down the tunnel.

"They can't get through that door; it's four inches of steel on this side," he said, glancing back over his shoulder at them. "We can get out through the catacombs."

Dean exchanged a fast look with Sam, and they followed him, Ellie a few paces ahead of them, Cas a couple behind. The tunnel curved in a long, gentle spiral, leading them down, the walls rough and damply glistening in some parts, smooth and dry in others.

"Where are we?" Sam asked, as they passed another tunnel entrance to their right.

"Under the city. The ossuary of St Peter's is the first level. We need to go deeper."

"We're in a graveyard?" Dean looked at the man's back. "Who're you?"

He slowed and turned, the light reflected from the pale stone walls lighting his face. "My name is Peter Andante. I'll explain the rest when we get somewhere where we can stop." He turned back to the tunnel and lengthened his stride again.

The tunnel continued downwards with only one other branching and they came into a wide, open space after several minutes walking. Peter moved to the wall, lighting an oil-soaked torch and carrying it around the roughly circular area to light several others. The ceiling was low, barely above Sam's head, and several other dark tunnel entrances pierced the curving walls at intervals.

"This is the level of the vaults. We're safe here. The ways in are guarded." He set the torch back into its original bracket and turned to face them. In his forties, he was tall, perhaps six foot one or two, and lean, his hair dark and cut very short. The high forehead, long oval face, and long, curved nose gave the impression of an aesthete, but the full-lipped mouth softened its severity. Clean-shaven, his jaw was already shadowed, and dressed in dark leathers, the close-fitting pants tucked into heavy boots, the jacket zippered diagonally across his chest, he looked more like an enforcer for a gang than anyone belonging to the Church's city. The hilt of the long sword he carried was visible over his shoulder, the scabbard held across his back. The shorter sword scabbard lay flat against his thigh, both weapons an archaic incongruity against the modern clothes.

"What are you doing here?" Deep-set, sea-blue eyes, narrowed now under black brows, stared at them, looking them over as thoroughly as they had him.

"Hunting a vampire," Dean answered shortly, hackles rising in response to the peremptory tone.

Peter's brows shot up. "Got more than you expected?"

"We're looking for an ancient vampire, the first vampire," Ellie said, her voice cool.

Peter turned to her, his expression changing slightly as he studied her. In the warm firelight of the torches, the pallor of her skin wasn't so obvious.

"Who'd you say you were?" Dean took a step closer.

"He's a hunter, an assassin of the Church," Ellie said, lifting her chin, contempt in her voice.

"And you are a vampire," Peter replied mildly. "But I haven't held that against you."

"She isn't a full vampire," Dean said quickly, looking from Ellie to the man staring at her, taking another step toward her. "She hasn't fed."

"I can see that." Peter looked at the sharp angles of the bones in her face, the loose fit of her clothing. He turned back to Dean.

"I am a hunter, she's right about that." He looked at Sam and Castiel. "And so are you."

"We need to find the Illuminati's offices." Sam said, his nerves prickling at the undercurrents that seemed to fill the cavern.

"The Illuminati?" One of side of Andante's mobile mouth lifted. "You're treasure hunters as well?"

Sam exchanged a look with his brother. "We know how it sounds. But if that," he gestured behind to the tunnel, the library above, "didn't give us some credibility, I don't know what will." He looked at Peter. "We've got proof, just not here. The Illuminati are real and they have the pieces of a device that can change Time."

Peter listened to him, one brow rising. "Are you sure you know how this sounds?"

Sam scowled. "The vampire we're tracking has the last piece of the device. Is there a way through the catacombs?"

Peter shook his head. "No. There are tunnels under most of the city but they aren't connected. Most of the original ossuaries are now purely for storage." His eyes narrowed. "The offices of the society are hidden in one of the libraries, I don't know where precisely."

Sam looked at him in surprise. "I thought you said –"

The hunter shrugged. "We do get treasure hunters here. They often give up when they meet disbelief."

"What does a hunter for the Church do, exactly?" Dean looked at him.

"Much the same as you, I suppose." He leaned back against the wall. "We take care of the unnatural creatures that threaten the population."

"And hunt down those who oppose the Church's doctrine, or their teachings," Ellie added, a slight, sly smile curving her mouth.

He looked at her expressionlessly. "We haven't been given orders like that for six hundred years."

"Hmmm." She turned away, moving closer to a different entrance, and sitting down, her back against the wall.

Dean watched her then looked back at Andante. "Can't say I'm all that impressed with your skills. Back home, a nest that size, we'd have taken them down."

"We couldn't locate the nest." Peter's mouth curled down. "And it wasn't that size before your vampire arrived."

"He's not "our" vampire." Dean scowled.

"The remaining vampires will spread themselves throughout the gardens." Peter turned back to Sam. "Getting through them will be difficult while it's still dark."

"What else is new?" Sam shrugged.

"You seem unsurprised by our quest." Castiel looked at the Church hunter, brows slightly drawn together.

"There have been rumours, seraphim," Peter said with slow smile. "In this life it makes sense to keep track of them. What the Illuminati do, when they're on church ground, is my business."

"How did you know I was an angel?"

The man laughed softly. "I've worked for the Church all my life. I've met angels before."

He walked to the dark entrance of another tunnel, picking up a bag and returning to them. "I've got some food here, not much. We'll have to wait for sunrise before we leave."

He passed a fresh loaf of bread to Sam and turned to Dean. Dean shook his head at the offered bread, turning away from them and walking to where Ellie sat.

Peter looked after him thoughtfully. "Does he know that she's going to die, if she doesn't feed soon?"

Sam swallowed uncomfortably. "If she feeds, we can't save her."

"Save her?" The dark brows rose questioningly. "How can you save her?"

"We have a cure, all we need is the Alpha's blood and we can turn her back." Sam looked down at the half-loaf of bread, his appetite gone suddenly. "But it won't work if she feeds."

"How was she turned?"

"The vampire did it deliberately, a diversion, to get the last piece of the device." Sam glanced at his brother, watching him sink down beside her.

* * *

Dean lifted his hand to touch her shoulder, and froze as her eyes flew open and she scrambled away from him.

"Ellie …" He barely got the word out, seeing the faintest of red tinging her eyes. The second dose of the tallis root was in their gear bags, back in the library. He swallowed. "You have to fight it."

Ellie looked at him for a moment then turned away. "I am fighting it."

"You have the strongest will of anyone I know, you can do this," he moved closer to her, drawing in a sharp breath as she flinched and moved further away.

"Your blood smells sweet, Dean. Your heart is loud. Don't come close to me," she said to him. He dropped to one knee, leaning against the wall, watching her, seeing the shadows under the bones of her face, hollowed out from hunger.

"Dawn is coming, Dean. And the Alpha is still here somewhere." She closed her eyes.

"We're gonna make it through this, like we have everything else." He wanted to touch her, to hold her, and the impossibility of that hurt.

She turned her head away from him, and he watched her body tense for a long moment. "I'm dying, Dean. If I wait much longer, I won't have the strength to face him, to kill him."

"The tallis root should have lasted until this evening." He frowned as he counted back the hours.

"The fight burned it out," she said slowly, tensing again, one thin arm curling around her torso.

"I'll get the other dose." He started to get up and her hand flashed out, catching his wrist and pulling him down.

"No." She turned her head to look at him, and he saw the red had spread a little further. "You'll be killed. Most of what we took out were the young ones, arrogant in their belief that nothing could hurt them. The older ones are left and they are far better killers."

Her face was all angles now, skin stretched tightly over her skull, so pale it seemed almost translucent. She was dying, he realised, the knowledge slicing through him.

On the skin of his wrist, her fingers felt hard and cold. He looked down at her hand, seeing the same translucency over the sharply protruding bones. She looked down as well, her face screwing up, as if the throb of his heartbeat through the veins was too much to bear, releasing him and turning away again.

"Leave me alone," she whispered to him, both arms wrapped around herself now, her eyes closing again. "You can't help."

He looked at her, his chest constricting, his throat tightening, struggling against the welling emotion that was going to take his strength and determination if he gave it any room. _She's not dead_, he told himself, turning away from her unwillingly, forcing himself to his feet. _She's not going to die, she's not going to turn into a monster I have to kill, this is going to work_. He kept repeating the words to himself, but he couldn't believe them.

* * *

"The Church has tolerated the society being here for three hundred years. They are not spoken of in this city, but it is known that at least some of those who work here for the Church are members. It's never clear who they are." Peter chewed on the bread, and picked up the bottle of water beside him.

"What do they do here? What do they want?" Sam glanced sideways, seeing him turn his head again to look at the shadowed figure in the tunnel.

"They say they are seeking knowledge. Not for power, not for gain, simply knowledge for its own sake."

"That's hard to believe," Sam said dryly.

"Yes. But that's what they claim." The Church hunter shrugged, tipping the bottle up and swallowing the water.

"Is the device real? Can it change the course of Time?"

Peter laughed softly. "I'm not a member, Sam. I don't have the faintest idea."

"Heaven," Sam glanced at Castiel, "and Hell and the vampires all seem to think it's real."

"Then maybe it is. They ought to know, they've been around the longest." He looked at his watch. "Another half-hour and we should be able to go and look for their offices. Sunrise is close."

Dean looked again at Ellie. She hadn't moved or changed position since he'd left her there. He looked back at the hunter as Peter got to his feet, Sam and Cas rising as well. He rolled onto his feet, hand going automatically to the hilt of the machete sheathed at his hip. The vamps could be out after the sun was out, especially in the gardens where the trees would hide them from the sunshine.

He straightened up, feeling the stiffness in his shoulders and arms. There was no sound, no warning, he only realised that she was near when he saw Peter's hand flash up to the hilt of his sword, yanking the longer blade free of its sheath, the wink off the polished steel, the Church hunter's eyes narrowed as he stepped forward, looking past him, to something behind … his fingers clenched around the hilt of the machete, nervous system screaming as he pulled out the heavy blade, and got it up.

The lighter three-foot épée blade rang out as it met the machete's edge, Dean's hoarse shout echoing along the stone walls simultaneously. He thrust hard against the sword blade, sweeping it out and down, turning his head to see Ellie standing behind him. She was shaking, her eyes wide and flame-red, the vampire fangs fully descended over her teeth. He didn't know if she'd meant to attack him, or one of the others. Before he could turn fully around, she'd vanished into the darkness of the tunnel, moving far faster than any of them could see.

"I'm sorry." Peter let his sword drop. Dean saw the man's gaze drop to his hand, to the gold band on his finger, rise again to meet his own. "She will feed, it's beyond her control now."

Dean's fingers tightened around the hilt of the machete. He turned, his only thought to follow her, and he felt a hand close around his arm.

"You won't find her now," Sam said softly. "If she's gone after the Alpha, we'll catch her in daylight."


	59. Chapter 59 An Act of Will

**Chapter 59**

* * *

Ellie ran into the darkness, away from the men and the angel, away from the sweet lure of the smell of their blood, the rushing gurgle she could hear as it was pumped around the blood vessels of their bodies. The need for it was all-consuming, hunger slashing and squeezing her from the inside out. She hadn't gone to them to attack, she'd gone to tell Dean that she was leaving, that she had to leave, now before the sun rose, but the sight of the Church's assassin drawing his weapon, drawing it to kill her, had sparked an instinctive response, and the blood had risen through her, a red tide of hunger. She'd felt the teeth descend, felt herself harden and tense. Dean's blocking of the sword's blow, when it was inches from her, had freed her momentarily from the crackling need to kill – and she'd run from them, knowing that if she stayed, even for another second, the hunger would be beyond her control and she would be dead, one way or the other.

She saw easily in the black tunnels, and she could feel him, Usiku, as he hunted methodically through the buildings for the one he needed. She slowed slightly, the blurring of the stone walls to either side of her reduced. She needed to gather her strength, while she still had some left.

Dean's face filled her mind's eye, and she couldn't push it away, couldn't erase that sight, the horror in his eyes as they'd met hers, seeing god only knew what … rage, bloodlust, hunger, fear … she didn't know, she couldn't remember. He would think the worst, she knew, believe the worst. _Why is it always us_, he'd asked. She didn't know the answer to that. Her faith in God's strength was under strain right now. She would kill the Alpha, and drain his blood into the chalice and hope that Dean would believe that she was still human somewhere inside and make the cure with it. That was all she could do.

She turned when a branching way appeared, feeling the tunnel rising, the vampire senses extended through the rock and soil and brick into the building above her. It was empty and silent, but it held a passageway to the next building and that one was not. The slightly curved cavalry sword bumped in its scabbard against her back as she ran on, reminding her of what she had to do, who she had to find.

* * *

The crackle of static from a radio made them jump. Peter reached into his pocket, pulling out a small comms unit.

"Echo-6."

"Echo-6, demon incursion sector 8. Repeat. Demon incursion sector 8. All teams prep and report."

"Echo-6, confirm incursion, sector 8. Proceeding to sector 8. Out." He closed his eyes, mouth twisting as he considered the implications.

"Echo-6, confirm proceeding sector 8. Out."

Sam looked at him as he put the radio away. "Demons? Here?"

"Even here." Peter nodded. "I've got to go; they don't call all teams unless it's a big party." He gestured to the tunnel entrance to the right of the one Ellie had gone into. "That one goes to the Apostolic Library. You'll have an hour and a half to check the buildings before the guards come in and open it to the public."

He half-turned from them, zipping up his jacket, then looked back. "Good luck."

Castiel and Sam watched him take the far left tunnel. Beside them, Dean looked at the machete in his hand, his thoughts circling around what he was going to have to do. He wouldn't be able to do it, he thought bleakly.

He felt Sam's hand drop onto his shoulder, and looked up.

"Come on, it should be light now."

Castiel looked at the tunnel they'd come down through. "We should retrieve your equipment, while we have the chance."

The library reading room was been empty when they returned for the gear, even the bodies and heads of the fallen vampires were gone. They retraced their steps to the lower chamber, and walked into the tunnel that would lead them to the first of the libraries, Sam taking point, Cas behind him and Dean walking rear guard, forcing himself to concentrate on where they were, to get his mind clear. The tunnel dipped for fifty yards then started to climb, and the door at the end opened into the morning light, the bulk of the Apostolic Library building a few yards to the right.

* * *

Ellie slipped from column to column as she moved down the long corridor. Sunlight shone through the high windows, but the sun wasn't high enough yet for the light to reach the floors. She could feel him, ahead of her, and she wondered fleetingly if he could also feel her, shadowing him, listening for him. She paused as she reached the end of the corridor, freezing up against a pillar as her hearing caught voices on the other side of the large double doors. The two security guards who came through were both in their fifties, crisp white shirts and navy pants straining over their well-fed bodies, the paraphernalia they carried on their belts clanking and clinking as they walked through the open doors, past her and down the corridor. She stood in plain view of them, but their gazes had skated over her, their minds preoccupied with their conversation, the thoughts of the day. She moved silently behind them and through the doors, her teeth set tightly together as she ignored the smell of them, the rich, coppery tang of their blood, ignored the loud beating of their hearts. Her own heart was beating very fast with the effort.

In the shadow of the staircase, she waited, eyes closed and senses reaching outward through the building. Usiku was still searching, but he'd reached the smaller of the last two libraries now, perhaps four or five hundred yards ahead of her. She brought her concentration down to a pinpoint, feeling for landmarks that he was seeing, noticing, that she could use.

Above the doorway he passed under there was an emblem, two triangles, one inverted, with an eye between them. She recognised it, from years ago, from hunting this society … she frowned slightly, unable to remember the details of that hunt. Still it was the right one, she could feel it. Opening her eyes, she ran silently for the next set of doors, knowing that there would a left turn after she passed through them, then a right at the end of that corridor. She didn't look at the name that was inscribed over the doorway to the library she was entering.

* * *

Sam looked around the library in frustration. What the hell were they looking for? A secret door? A book? A map? He slowed down and stopped at one of the long, polished reading tables.

"What is it?" Castiel stopped beside him.

"I don't know where we're going." Sam ran his hand through his hair impatiently. "I'm not even sure what it is we're looking for."

"The Illuminati have their offices here, somewhere," Castiel looked around the room. "They must have a safe or a vault or somewhere they're keeping the pieces as they acquire them."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Knock yourself out, there are only another six libraries to go through."

"I can't –" The angel looked at him and compressed his lips. "We just have to go through each one."

Sam walked to the desk, opening the small gate and going behind the counter. There was a computer sitting there, no doubt holding the databases for the books in the city. And when you knew what you were looking for, databases were great things. The trouble was, he didn't. He glanced at the pile of books sitting next to the monitor as his gaze moved over the surface of the desk, then looked back. In the middle of the stack a title leapt out at him. He reached for it, extracting it from between the books on top and underneath.

It was a cloth-bound hardback, the burgundy material faded and worn, the gold-leaf emblem in the centre of the cover even more so, but still recognisable, the shape and details unmistakable.

It was the chalice.

He opened the cover. Saint Thomas Aquinas.

He closed his eyes briefly, and riffled through his own database. Thomas Aquinas, called the Universal Teacher, the father of enlightenment, he was the patron saint of learning, of knowledge. His symbol was often the chalice.

He put the book down and pulled out the tourist map of the city, his finger going to the key.

"Okay, I know where we're going." He folded the map and put it back into his jacket pocket, turning and coming out from behind the desk. "Come on, let's go."

Castiel glanced at Dean, who shrugged and followed Sam. The angel walked after them, frowning a little as he considered the expression that had been in Dean's eyes. He'd seen it once before in his friend, before Dean had attempted to find Michael, to hand himself over.

It was indifference. The indifference of despair.

* * *

She glanced up at the emblem as she passed under it, but it meant little now. He was close, she could almost smell him. The room had no natural light, no windows or skylights, not even the glass bricks some of the other rooms had had, and the dimness soothed her eyes. This building was small, the library tall rather than long. She slipped from stack to stack, circumnavigating the room and stopped behind the last bookcase in frustration. Where was he? He was so close.

Her strength was running out, the hunger that had been clawing at her for days now was eating away her own body in desperation. Still, she hung on, feeling the sharp prick of the vampire fangs against her lips all the time now, ignoring the pain, ignoring the craving, ignoring everything but what she had to do. He was ancient, and powerful and as versed in the ways of treachery as any demon that Hell could offer. If she looked at the coming confrontation realistically, she knew wouldn't stand a chance. Having no choice in the matter helped.

Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the books, pushing at the growing certainty it was too late anyway. There were a lot of things she couldn't remember any more. It frightened her more than the monstrous hunger that had invaded her body, not being able to remember. She didn't remember what John looked like. Couldn't remember the smell of Rosie's coppery tufts of hair, that sweet baby smell that she had loved once. She couldn't remember what it had felt to look at Dean, when he was still half-asleep in the mornings, her memories told her that it felt like something but the feeling itself had gone. She couldn't recapture the feeling of love at all … she could see her memories, could remember that she had felt that, but she couldn't remember what it was, why it had been so important, and the memories themselves were as dry and crumbling as a thousand year old manuscript in her mind.

What was the point of surviving if she couldn't return to the woman she'd been?

The thought was wiped out by the noise. She turned slowly, hearing the scream, distant yet not. _Where?_ A second scream, sharply cut off. She looked down at her feet. Another level or levels. _Yes_.

She looked around the room again, preternaturally sharp vision searching for anomalies in the walls, in the thicknesses and angles, in the shapes and shadows. It took her another five minutes of careful scrutiny before she noticed the gap, so narrow and well-hidden it was. On either side of the mantel, polished brass sconces were fixed to the slender Doric columns. She ran a long, curved nail around the one to the left of the fireplace, probing at it. The metal shifted very slightly under her touch and she smiled, baring the rows of bright white fangs. The sconce swivelled, turning to the left, a handle for the carefully weighted and balanced door that was hidden in the false column. She looked into the dark slit in the wall and stepped through.

Now she could smell him. Close and overlaid with the scent of fresh blood. She moved down the narrow tunnel and saw the steps ahead, cut from the rock, the centres deeply worn away from the feet that had used them over the centuries. The air was dry and she could hear a low hum, machinery operating somewhere deeper. The first descent was quick, perhaps a fifty or sixty foot drop under the ground. She came out into an oval chamber, tunnel entrances on either side, the walls and floor hewn smooth but not finished. In the centre of the chamber, two guards lay in the sprawling bonelessness of death. She glanced down at them, looking at the tearing at their throats, smelling the tang of their blood and swallowing hard against it. Usiku, she thought and followed his scent into the nearer of the tunnels.

* * *

Sam hurried along the corridor, checking his watch. The security guards who opened the building would be coming through any minute. They needed to be inside the offices before they arrived. He glanced up at the carved inscription over the open glass-paned doors. _Biblioteca di San Tommaso d'Aquino_. They were here.

Castiel looked at the doors as they passed through, the locks undamaged, the small doorstops set against the bottom edges. "When was the security detail supposed to open the buildings?"

"Anytime now." Sam glanced back at him. "Why?"

The angel gestured to the doors. "It looks like they've already been through here."

_Great. Perfect,_ Sam thought. "Well, we'll have to try and avoid them."

He looked at his brother. Dean stood still, looking around the room as if he wasn't quite sure how he'd arrived here. Sam could see the muscle in his jaw twitching, see the high line of the muscles around his neck and shoulders tensed up, the knuckles in his right hand white with the tightness of the grip he had on the machete. He sighed inwardly. There was no easy way to do this, no way he could spare him. He needed backup. He still held a small hope that she was tracking the Alpha, hadn't fed, was still herself.

"What are we looking for?" Dean looked at him.

"Illuminati secret offices." Sam shrugged, gesturing vaguely around the reading room.

"What about that?"

Both men turned to look at what the angel was pointing to. The dark slit behind the column was obvious, even at a distance.

* * *

The dark vampire was bending over an ornately gilded desk when she entered the room, his attention fixed on the scattering of objects in front of him. The sibilant whisper of steel on leather drew his gaze.

"My dear." He straightened up, turning toward her. "You haven't fed at all, have you?"

She flexed her fingers around the hide-wrapped hilt of the sword, drawing in a deep breath. The vampire smiled sadly at her, and moved. She dropped, releasing the two-handed grip on the blade and swinging it around in a tight circle, feeling it bite hard into something unseen at her three. The ancient's breath hissed out at her, and she rolled backwards, feeling the slash of his nails glancing across her shin, springing to her feet, her head shifting from side to side like a snake's.

She couldn't quite see him, couldn't quite hear him, but she could smell him, his draining of the guards had filled him with the overpowering reek of blood and her hunger could find him anywhere, moving or still, hidden or visible. She swung around, tracking that smell as he moved in a blur behind her, and she jumped, feeling the inordinate power in her body, catching the chandelier twelve feet above her and using the momentum of her weight to swing out and over him, dropping behind precisely, her own movement too fast for him to follow. The sword took its second drink of blood, biting into his side. It was too high and it skated over the ribcage, but she'd marked him and her lips drew back in a spiky smile, baring the fangs.

She moved back too slowly, and felt his fingers curling around her arm, tightening with inexorable pressure. Driving the tip of the blade toward him, he was forced to leap back, cursing softly, feeling blood trickle down and soak into his shirt from the scratch over his heart. She could feel her blood running down her arm, where his talons had driven through her skin, and she flexed her hand, shaking off the numbness.

They stood for a moment, on either side of the desk, staring at each other.

"I was old when the race was young, Elena." He used the Eastern European version of her name, his voice a caress in the silence of the room. "I ruled over a continent for five thousand years before it was time to spread my kind – _your_ kind – across the planet."

"Mlaji Katika Usiku," she said softly. "I know your name."

He smiled, one brow rising. "Where were you when the world was young, Elena? You should have been at my side, queen consort to a new race."

She stared at him, her mouth curling in contempt. "A race of cowards, hiding their faces from the sun, living in graveyards and sewers like the vermin they are? That's all you have to offer, Usiku?"

His face, almost always held in lines of amused superiority, tightened, and the pale eyes narrowed. "I will crack the bones of your children and suck out the marrow, Elena, I promise you that."

"You will die and not even the crows will touch your putrid flesh, bloodsucker," she retorted, and drove toward him, the blade flickering before her, uncaring if she lived or died, so long as she took the head of the monster in front of her.

* * *

Sam came out of the narrow tunnel first, his flashlight flicking around the chamber as he walked clear. He saw the guards on the floor as Dean emerged behind him, his heart dropping like a stone as he walked over to them.

Both men had been big, but of course, vampires were strong, and in the midst of the insatiable bloodlust he thought she would have been able to tear anyone apart. He dropped to one knee, shining the light over the rent flesh, the holes in the neck had torn through the arteries. Both men had been drained. There was little blood on the floor around them.

Behind him, Dean stared at the bodies of the men, his gaze fixed on their necks. He couldn't move. His body wouldn't move. He could hear the harsh rasp of his breath as it left his throat, could see, from the corner of his eye, his brother's expression of concern but he couldn't take his eyes off the wounds, couldn't process anything beyond the recognition that each man had held six quarts of blood, or a little more, in their bodies, and both had been drained dry.

"Cas, can you check out that tunnel?" Sam glanced at the angel, gesturing to the tunnel with a flick of the beam. Castiel nodded, and walked slowly from the chamber, moving along the tunnel in the dark, his vision unimpaired by the lack of light.

"Dean." Sam moved back slowly, reaching out to grip his shoulder. "Dean?"

_How was he supposed to do this_, he wondered helplessly. _How was he supposed to fight her, cut off her head, without losing his mind?_ He could hear Sam's voice, close to him somewhere, but he couldn't look around, couldn't get rid of the images that filled his imagination and kept playing, over and over. _How was he supposed to tell his children that he'd killed their mother?_ The thought brought an immediate reaction, his stomach heaving and he dropped to his knees, a little bile ejecting from his throat as he leaned over. _He couldn't tell them that. He couldn't look into their faces and tell them that. He couldn't_.

Sam knelt beside him, his fingers curved around his brother's arm, trying to get him back from wherever he was in his mind.

"Dean, can you hear me?" He tilted his head, peering at Dean's face. "Dean, come on, man, come out of it."

_Where had he been when the Alpha had found her, bound and helpless? What kind of a fucking man was he that he'd let this happen to her?_ The thoughts fluttered around the perimeter of the thing that was holding him fixed in place. She'd fed. She was a monster. She had to be killed.

"Dean, listen to me, we have to keep going," Sam said a little louder, his grip tightening on his brother's arm, feeling the beginnings of a tremble in the muscles that were contracted so tightly they felt like steel. "You don't have to do it."

Castiel came back out of the tunnel, and looked at Sam, looked at the rigidity of Dean's hunched frame. "It's the other one."

Sam looked up and nodded, turning back to Dean. "Come on, she's just ahead of us, we have to go. We have to get the clock."

_He would have died for her_, he thought, _in a heartbeat_. _He would have killed for her_. _But that wasn't what he had to do. She'd made him promise. He had to keep the promise. He couldn't. He couldn't tell his kids. What the fuck was he supposed to do? No one could ask this of him. He couldn't do it._

"Dean! Look at me!" Sam shifted, putting himself between his brother and the guards. "You don't have to do it, I'll do it."

The words penetrated. In his mind's eye, he saw Sam, swinging the heavy blade. He felt a shudder ripple through him.

"No." The word came out in a deep, grating growl, Dean's eyes widening and meeting Sam's. "No!"

"Alright," Sam said quickly, unwilling to argue, relieved that he'd gotten a response, even if it was the wrong one, "come on, man. We've got to go."

He stood up, and waited as Dean staggered upright, wiping his mouth. Beside the entrance to the second tunnel, Castiel watched Dean uneasily, seeing as clearly as Sam that the man was so close to the edge of his sanity that anything could tip him over.

* * *

Ellie stood with her back flattened against the wall. She was panting now, blood running from a dozen different wounds, pain lurking somewhere behind the frenzied bloodlust that was driving her on. The sword was getting heavier in her hand, and she knew that Usiku had stopped playing, had finally realised that there was a very small, outside chance that she might succeed.

"You have cursed everyone you love, everyone you've ever known, Elena. I will hunt them all."

His voice slid around the stone walls, echoing softly from the high, vaulted ceiling. She couldn't see him, but she could still smell him, behind her, behind the column she leaned against, and to the right of it. She dragged in a breath, and launched herself out to the left, driving him back against the wall, the sword whickering as she hit bone, withdrew and stabbed again, feeling the tip run through flesh this time, throwing herself back and rolling away as she felt his nails scrape across her neck.

The threats he made might have made a difference to her days ago, she thought, shaking droplets of blood from her hand. Now, the vampire's words fell onto her and bounced off, her memories utterly devoid of any emotion. She felt nothing in response to what he was saying, nothing in response to the blood she could feel running out of her, or the physical sensation of pain that rose in those places. She felt hunger. She felt rage. And that was all.

Her nostrils flared as the smell of blood became stronger, and she realised that he was moving toward her, slowly this time, trying to outflank her position. This was it. This was the moment she'd been waiting for. He was no longer emotionless. He wanted to end it and she would oblige him.

He came out into view suddenly, in front of her and to her left, and she faded back, moving just out of his reach as the sword cut through the air in a tight circle, and bit through one of the wrists reaching out toward her. The shriek was deafening in the chamber, bouncing and rebounding from the hard walls, his mouth wide open as he stared at the bloody stump. She shifted direction immediately, racing toward him, the blade swinging low in front of her and he turned, sending a spray of blood across the room. She took a long side-step as he pivoted back to her, moving too fast to see, knowing he would try and grab her, her legs folding, sliding under his outstretched arm and flicking the sword in a one-handed backstroke, her eyes closing tightly as the other arm flew off just below the elbow, the blood splashing out in a great gout where she'd been.

* * *

Neither saw the men stop at the entrance to the chamber, neither heard their blood or hearts, both too involved with this last, final engagement. Usiku's roar filled the chamber and Ellie turned as she slid, passing him and jamming her foot against the column as she came to it, her momentum lifting her up, the powers of the vampire blood raising her higher. The stroke was a sideways down cut, reversed because she was behind him, starting under the jaw on the Alpha's left side and slicing diagonally across the neck, the blade jarring on the collarbone on the right. Ellie landed on her feet, as Usuki fell slowly to the floor, his head still attached by a thin flap of skin, but the eyes glazed over by the time the body crumpled at her feet. She slashed at the remaining join and the head rolled away, across the rugs, coming to a stop by the leg of the desk.

Sam's exhale was soft, but she heard it, her head lifting slowly.

* * *

The fight went almost unseen by the men, left with confusing after-images of movement, the Alpha's roars, but otherwise little noise and then sudden stillness as the vampire fell. Castiel could see it, although his vessel's limitations of sight meant that he had to fill many of the missing pieces. Ellie dropped the sword, and the blade clanged against the stone as she reached for the chalice that stood on the desk. She dropped to her knees beside the body.

Sam looked at her, his heart twisting inside of his chest as he took in the gleaming polish on her skin, the wide eyes, filmed in a deep red, the fangs that he could clearly see between her parted bloodless lips. He pulled his machete from the sheath at his hip and stepped forward.

_Ellie_. Dean stared at her, kneeling next to the headless corpse of the Alpha, her hair loose and falling in a tangled curtain down her back, her head bowed as if she were waiting for Sam, wanting him to come and end it all. She remained where she was as Sam took a step toward her, only lifting her head slightly and looking at his brother, then past him, her eyes meeting Dean's. He stared into the fiery redness of them, flinching inwardly at the sight, and shifted his gaze, looking at her face, her skull clearly visible below the unmarked white skin, her lips so pale he could hardly make out their shape.

Lips.

His brows drew together as he stared at her mouth, knowing something was wrong, something had been missed, but unable to think what it was.

Pale.

Bloodless.

No blood. _No blood._

His heart slammed against his ribs and he dragged in a huge breath, dropping the machete and launching himself toward his brother as Sam began to lift his blade.

"Sam, no!" The words tore out of his throat, hoarse and filled with desperation.

He hit Sam with his shoulder, sending his brother staggering forward, the heavy blade swinging out as he tried to regain his balance. Sam turned back to Dean, shaking his head, as he saw that his brother now stood between him and Ellie.

He'd known this was going to be hard, be impossible for his brother to face. "Dean, she fed –"

"Sam, look at her mouth," Dean stepped sideways to block him, as Sam tried to walk around him, knowing what it looked like to Sam, knowing that he couldn't explain his own conclusion quickly enough. "Please, man, look at her mouth!"

Sam looked down, brow wrinkling as he looked at Ellie's face. He saw the fangs, protruding like a cluster of gleaming white thorns from between her lips, and looked back at his brother.

"What?"

"Sam, there's no blood." Dean turned, looking down at Ellie, the words finally coming through the fog of fear. "If she'd fed, she'd be covered in blood – there would have been three gallons in those guards, at least."

Sam looked back at the smooth pale skin, the shining teeth. Aside from the stains that came through the slashes and rents in her clothes, there was no blood on her chest or neck either. He lowered the machete slowly.

Dean turned away from him, taking a step toward her. Ellie picked up the chalice and lifted the body beside her, and the dark blood ran into the mouth of the cup. When it was full, she raised her arm, holding it out to him.

* * *

Ellie let her head drop forward. She was so tired. The pulsing compulsion to kill, to feed, was still there, agitating in her mind, throbbing through her nerves, the smell of the men close to her so intoxicating that her thoughts were spinning, filled with images of killing, but she was too tired to move. She could hear, with perfect clarity, the crackle of the herbs as they fell into the bowl, Dean's knife blade as he sliced through the roots, and the soft noises of them being ground to a powder against the stone floor. She could hear him reciting the recipe, barely vocalised under his breath, hear the anxiety in that faint murmur, hear the thud of his heart and the bubbling rush of the air entering and leaving his lungs. She wanted to tell him it was too late, she'd lost too much but she couldn't get the words out, couldn't think how to frame them in sentences that would have meaning.

Clink of his knife as he mixed the ingredients together, the blade hitting the sides of the chalice. Sharply indrawn breath and the sliding hiss of muscle moving under skin as he turned around. The odour of the mixture in the cup hit her and she felt her stomach knot in fearful anticipation. He moved closer and she drove her nails into her palms, using the pain to control the urge to attack, to open the blood vessels and drink deeply of the warm, still living blood.

"Ellie." His voice was very soft as he got nearer. She could hear the emotion in it, but couldn't recognise it. She closed her eyes, knowing that they would have brightened, reddened, he was too close, she could hear the blood in his veins, she couldn't shut out the image of how it would look, pouring out of him.

Dean looked down at her tightly clenched fists, blood trickling out the creases along the edges. He saw the rapid rise and fall of her chest, her breathing quickening as he got closer. She could smell him, he thought uneasily, smell his blood and probably hear it as his heart pumped it around his body. They were so close to saving her now, he couldn't think of the risk. He crouched beside her and held up the chalice, the smell raising his memories of how it tasted, how it had felt to turn back.

"It's goddamned awful to drink," he said in a low voice, "but you have to. Now."

Her eyes opened and he forced himself not to turn away at the sight of them, blood-red and wide open, staring into his. He lifted the chalice to her lips and her hands rose slowly, folding over his around the slender handles, as hard and cold as stone. She took a breath then tipped it up, the foul liquid spilling into her mouth, her throat moving as she swallowed convulsively, ignoring the taste and the smell and draining the cup.

He put it down behind him and waited, knowing what would happen next.

Ellie felt the liquid hit her stomach. For a moment it seemed as if nothing had happened, that it hadn't worked. She didn't feel anything differently. Then she convulsed, twisting away from Dean, sending a long stream of the liquid from her stomach across the floor, her arms curling in around herself, legs drawing up as fire burned through the blood paths of her body. The Alpha's blood had sat in her for a long time, and it withdrew reluctantly, pulled from her tissue in incremental droplets, flowing back along her capillaries and veins and arteries like a stream of acid, eating at her as it was drawn by the cure back to her stomach. She retched again, shuddering as it kept coming, cell by cell releasing the poison, filling her with agony.

She didn't realise that the low keening noise she could hear was coming from herself, until it rose and deepened and she felt the vibrations in her throat, the pain excruciating as the deepest blood was ripped out of her flesh and bones. She felt hands curve around her shoulders, holding her steady, the touch warming her through the thin material of her shirt. She felt her senses shutting down, one by one, her nervous system finally overloaded and she looked for the blackness, welcoming the slow slide away from the pain and fear.

Dean lifted her off the stone floor as her eyes rolled back, watching the second set of teeth retracting into her gums, her mouth changing shape as they disappeared altogether. Under his hands he could feel her skin warming slightly, the polished sheen fading away, blood flow and colour returning.

He looked up as he became aware of a noise in the tunnel, a rushing sound he couldn't identify. Sam and Castiel had turned away and were watching the dark opening as well when the first of the demons came into the chamber.


	60. Chapter 60 Angels and Demons

**Chapter 60**

* * *

"Come on! Are you kidding me?" Dean got up fast, staring as black-eyed men and women poured into the chamber. He set his feet on either side of the woman lying beneath him, catching the shotgun that his brother threw to him, and unloaded both barrels into the nearest. Sam held the pump action, salt-and-iron packed shells spraying out as the demons shrieked and wailed.

"Dean, the chalice!" Castiel shouted over the gunfire and tumult that filled the chamber, and Dean bent, sweeping it up and throwing it to the angel, reversing the sawn-off and slamming the butt into the face of the demon who came up behind him.

From the tunnel, he could hear more shots, and charcoal smoke streaked into the room, swirling around the ceiling. Peter Andante burst into the room, the pressurised container strapped to his back spraying a stream of holy water over the demons in front of him, a woman dressed in the same dark leathers ran in behind him, a semi-automatic rifle gripped tightly, firing single shot and lighting up their targets in violent reds and golds. Dean saw the possessed falling as the demons were obliterated and immediately coveted the gun.

"Sam, be ready to run when I tell you." Castiel passed the chalice to Sam, and closed his eyes, light beginning to fill him. Sam looked wildly around the room – run where?

"Castiel."

The word was a hiss, and Dean heard it under the noise surrounding him, clearly in his head. He saw Sam's head swing around to the tunnel at the same time, the two church hunters pausing as well.

A cold, directionless wind filled the room, rustling the papers, stirring their hair, filled with an acrid scent of ice and brimstone and blood. Dean felt the suck of the arch-demon, pulling at his warmth, his energy, his life-force, and he watched the doorway as the fallen angel walked through, long black robes swirling, face hidden in the darkness of the hood.

The woman with the gun turned it onto the arch-demon, screaming and falling as the gun misfired and the rounds in the rifle exploded in her hands, sending a fine mist of blood and several of her fingers into the air. Dean watched Andante dropping to her side, the nozzle of the sprayer swinging around to the black-robed creature, and saw the tank disintegrate, water erupting from it, falling over the hunters and several demons nearby.

He looked at Castiel, who stood frozen, light leaking from his eyes and mouth, his head thrown back in pain.

Asmodeus walked slowly to the angel, glancing dispassionately at the bodies that littered the floor. The surviving demons drew back from him, lining the walls, their faces turned away. A skeletal finger reached out of the long sleeve of the dark robe and touched Castiel lightly on the forehead, and the angel dropped to his knees before the demon.

"The device." The voice was less than a whisper but it reverberated around the room, plucking at the nerves of the living men and women there. The angel's head tilted back, staring up into the black hood.

"I don't have it." The words bubbled out of Castiel's mouth through a stream of blood.

Sam turned to run for the tunnel and was thrown to the floor. He watched as the chalice slid out of his grip and floated behind him to the desk.

The example of the demon's power over firearms was still strong in Dean's mind as he watched the pieces of the clock rising above the desk, turning and rotating in the air in front of the demon. He was aware too that Ellie was unconscious under him, completely defenceless. He glanced at Sam, still lying prone on the floor, and Castiel kneeling close by, his head bowed, both seemingly still held in the demon's thrall. His gaze sharpened as he looked at Peter Andante. The man knelt beside his partner, his head bowed and his eyes closed. Andante didn't seem to be the type who gave up so easily.

The floating pieces circled each other for a long moment then snapped together, fitting one to the next in a blur of motion and faint clicks. The device, a seamless golden sphere, drifted to the demon's hand and settled into it.

"Kind of interesting that a human could create something that can do what God can, huh?" Dean said into the silence.

Asmodeus turned around very slowly, the sphere gleaming against the black sleeve, and as the featureless chasm of the hood faced him, Dean wished he'd hadn't spoken.

"Interesting?" The mental touch of the arch-demon skittered over his mind like a spider and he clenched his teeth against it, looking away.

He saw Castiel staring at him, saw fear in the angel's dark blue eyes, the slight shake of his head.

"Maybe not interesting," Dean looked back to the black hood. "Maybe unbelievable is closer to it."

Asmodeus moved closer to him, and the cold draining sensation intensified, his knees buckling under him, his chest tightening, the air getting harder to drag into his lungs, as if it was solidifying as it passed down his throat.

"And what do mortals know of God's powers?" The arch-demon stood in front of him, and he felt his vision starting to grey around the edges, a pressure surrounding him that was ancient and cold and dead.

"It's hard to say what mortals know about, Asmodeus."

The dark baritone voice came from the tunnel, projected effortlessly into the chamber, resounding in the small space. Dean felt himself released and staggered to one side, his chest heaving as he pulled in a deep breath. What the hell had he been thinking, diverting the demon's attention from the church hunter? He glanced at Andante and saw the man's small nod.

Michael strode into the room, gleaming with light, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of the long sword that was belted at his waist. The archangel didn't look at Dean or Sam as he passed, though Dean noticed that Sam rolled over, and got to his feet slowly as the hem of the white surcoat brushed by him.

"You seem to be out of your jurisdiction here." The archangel's tone was mild, the expression on the perfectly sculpted face pleasant, but the demon backed away.

The room continued to brighten as Michael's garrison followed him in. The angels stood in loose formation, spreading out a little and covering the demons without appearing to do so deliberately.

"The conditions of your ascendency to the throne of Hell were, as I recall, many and varied, Asmodeus. Rising to this plane and looking for weapons were strictly prohibited," Michael continued, taking a slow step in the demon's direction.

He snapped his fingers and the golden sphere in the arch-demon's hand disappeared.

"I can see that trust to our mutual benefit was too much to hope for." He turned to the angel closest to him, nodding once. The angel stepped forward, drawing a plain golden collar from a soft bag at his belt.

The demon backed away. "Michael, that is not necessary."

"You have just proved that it is," Michael took the collar and walked to the arch-demon. "Kneel and remove your hood."

The demon hesitated for a moment, a low hiss emerging from the hood. Michael's expression became flat and hard and his fingers tightened around the sword hilt unequivocally. The angle of the hood altered, defeat acknowledged, and the arch-demon knelt slowly in front of the angel. Bony hands lifted, catching the sides of the hood and pushing it back.

Dean felt his breath rush out of him as he stared at the demon's head. The skull was misshapen, longer at the back and higher than a human skull. The bones of the face still held the perfection of an angel's form, but were themselves black, visible through the thin pale skin that covered most of the skull, gleaming like polished ebony where the skin had fallen away. It was possible that the demon's eyes had once been blue. Now they were white, the irises barely visible against the eyeballs, the pupils tiny black dots in the centres. Lidless, they were shadowed by the bony sockets. The arch-demon's teeth might have been human-like once, it was hard to tell. The deformed jaw line held hundreds of teeth, of all different lengths and thicknesses, their substance like black glass, each one elongated and drawn to a sharp point.

He looked away, not wanting to carry the image down into his dreams.

Michael bent and fixed the collar around the demon's neck, the click of the lock loud in the perfect silence of the room. He straightened and stepped back, lips pursed as he stared down at what had been, once, his brother.

"The throne that you hold is by the forbearance of Heaven," he said quietly. His voice rose, filling the chamber, the Enochian crisp and clear. "BOLP ALLARD CNILA. SBISI MAD SVRZAS ALLARD PVGO TELOCH.

Asmodeus bent his head. "_I am bound by my blood. The covenant I have sworn with God binds my life unto Death_."

"Good." Michael looked down at him, his distaste evident. "It would be better for everyone if you left now, and took your companions with you."

Asmodeus rose to his feet and turned abruptly, his robes becoming smoky and tenuous as he vanished altogether, and the remaining demons smoked out of their vessels, the thin black smoke ribboning up to the vaulted ceiling and vanishing as well.

The sphere appeared in Michael's hand, and he looked down at it, a trace of satisfaction lifting one side of his mouth. He turned back to the angels, nodding once. Two moved forward, flanking Castiel and taking his arms, lifting him to his feet.

"Castiel." Michael looked at him. "You were placed in a position of trust and you disobeyed."

Sam took a step toward the angels. "Wait a minute –"

"Silence!" Michael's head snapped around to look at the brothers. "I have given my word that I will not harm you and yours, Winchester, but do not test me. This is not your business."

"He was looking for the device." Dean stared at the archangel. _Disobedience. It's our murder one and I knew it_. Anna's voice echoed in his mind.

"I said, this does not concern you. The device is secure. You are free to go." Michael stared back at him, eyes narrowed and filled with fury.

Peter rose to his feet, lifting his partner as he did so. "I can verify that the angel was seeking the device, under your orders, my Lord."

"You deny that he gave the last piece to that man, and told him to flee with it?"

"He was trying to stop it from being completed by the arch-demon!" Sam looked at Castiel. The angel stood between his brothers, his head down. In the trench coat and suit, blood still glistening down the front of his shirt and jacket, he looked like a mild-mannered bookkeeper accused of fraud.

"No." Michael looked at Sam briefly, returning his gaze to Castiel. "No, he planned for the piece to be taken away and destroyed. Mortals may not know what lies in each other's hearts, but angels do."

"You are charged with the crime of treason, Castiel. What say you?"

Dean saw his friend's head rise as the angel looked wearily into Michael's face. "I did as I saw best, Michael."

"You deny that you disobeyed a direct order from me?"

"No. I believed the order to be in error at the time," Castiel said, his jaw setting.

The room rippled with the half-held gasps of the angels lining it. Dean looked at their faces, the expressions of shock, eyes wide and mouths open.

"What, you don't think your boss is capable of making mistakes?" he blurted out in irritation. He looked at Michael. "He's made plenty that I've seen."

"Leave."

Dean looked at the fury in the morning-glory eyes that were fixed on him. He didn't think that the archangel would hesitate to kill him, if he was pushed too far in front of the garrison. But what was happening, it wasn't right. It wasn't fair, and god, he'd had enough of things happening that weren't fucking well fair.

"If he's on trial, then he deserves to get a fair hearing."

For a moment the man and the archangel fought each other, by will alone, waiting to see who would give in. When Michael shrugged and turned away, Dean was astonished. He'd seen one other person defeat the angel in a battle of wills, and she'd held all the cards that time.

"Dean Winchester and Samuel Winchester. Do you recognise the angel held here?"

"Yes." Sam answered uneasily.

"Did this angel mark you and your brother to prevent angels from seeking you out?"

Dean closed his eyes. He should have realised that the archangel wouldn't give up that easily. Michael smiled very slightly.

"The truth, Dean. A single lie will condemn him outright."

"Yes."

"Did this angel teach you the Enochian sigil for banishing an angel from this plane?"

"No." Dean looked at Castiel. "Another angel taught us that."

Michael scowled at the answer, turning to look at Sam. "Did this angel ever make you privy to the plans and decisions of Heaven?"

Sam looked away. "Yes."

"Thank you. I believe you have served as able witnesses for the prosecution in this _fair_ hearing."

"He was trying to do God's will," Sam said angrily, turning back to the angels. "Against the conspiracy of Raphael and Uriel and who knows how many others! Doesn't that count for something?"

"Disobedience is disobedience, Sam," Michael said, looking at Castiel. "He betrayed his loyalty to us. He would have betrayed his loyalty to you in time."

"That's bullshit and you know it, Michael." Dean glared at him. "He did everything he could."

Michael ignored them, drawing his sword as he walked to Castiel.

"For the crime of treason against Heaven, for disobedience to your superiors, Castiel, I sentence you to death."

The sword leapt into white flame, reflecting on the angels' smooth faces, in their bright eyes. Castiel looked at it, then past it to Michael.

"God can judge me, Michael. Not you."

"Then we'll see, won't we?" Michael thrust the sword into the angel.

Castiel opened his eyes. Michael pulled the sword out and stared at him.

The Voice that filled the room, the building, the city within a city, wasn't audible, exactly. Sam heard music, a song of immense complexity, that brought a stillness to his heart. Peter heard the Tridentine Mass, spoken by his father. The woman he held in his arms, Maria, heard the fall and rush of the stream that ran behind her parent's home. In her dreams, Ellie saw a series of images, accompanied by emotions that swept through her, tears squeezing out through her closed lashes and rolling unfelt down her cheeks. Dean heard the roar of an engine, and over that, interwoven with the growling basso notes, his father's voice speaking softly.

For the angels, they heard the voice of their Father.

* * *

Dean blinked, and looked around. Beside him, Sam was smiling and he turned to look at what had occasioned his brother's rather goofy grin. Castiel stood behind him, his face bright and … happy, Dean thought. He didn't have many memories of the angel looking so light-hearted. He felt light in himself, for that matter. As if something had been laid to rest finally. He looked down at Ellie, noticing the wetness on her cheeks.

Michael picked up the orb and vanished, the garrison disappearing with the thunder of beating wings echoing around the chamber for moments after they'd gone. What had just happened, he wondered? He remembered seeing the archangel shove his sword through Cas. That was it.

"What happened?" Sam looked at Castiel. "I remember hearing music."

Castiel smiled slightly. "Ah … well. It seems that God didn't agree with Michael's judgement. He … uh … summarily dismissed all charges. And gave Michael something to think about."

"And we missed it?"

Dean rolled his eyes as he heard the disappointment in his brother's voice. They didn't really have faith. They had too much proof for belief.

"Well, you might have heard something else." The angel shrugged. "Humans can't really hear His Voice."

"That dick took the gizmo." Dean looked at the desk. "He'll use it, you know. Sooner or later the temptation will be too strong for him."

"No. He won't," Peter said from behind them. Maria was standing beside him, staring at her hands, marvelling at them by her expression. Her restored hands.

"What makes you so sure?" Sam turned to him curiously.

"Because it doesn't work." The hunter smiled at their expressions. "I'm sorry, I would have told you earlier, but it was important to get Asmodeus back onto Heaven's leash."

"What!?" Dean stared at him. "I thought – you said – who the hell do you work for?"

"I work for the Church." Andante shrugged slightly. "But I belong to the Illuminati."

"Guess you're sorry about not telling us that too," Dean said, his expression sour.

"We don't reveal our membership lightly."

"What did you mean, the device doesn't work?" Sam asked.

"Your brother said it. How could a human build a device that could do what God can do?" Peter smiled. "The clock was built in the fourth century, and the rumour of what it can do, and when, has been … fertilised ever since." He walked to the desk, moving the remains of the gadgets in which the pieces had been hidden aside and sitting on the edge.

"We needed something to draw out the power-hungry, from time to time. It has succeeded very well several times now. Of course, retrieving it from Heaven will be bit more tricky." He looked at Dean's expression, one corner of his mouth lifting as he took in the growing indignation in it. "The real beauty of letting Michael take it is that he will never admit to trying to use it, so the myth of its reality will never be destroyed."

"We did all this – she nearly lost her life – all of us, nearly died – for nothing?" Dean sputtered.

"Not for nothing." Castiel crouched beside Ellie, resting his hand on her forehead. "Asmodeus is now bound and chained for the next thousand years."

"You knew about this?"

"No. If I had, I wouldn't have gone against Michael's orders." The angel looked at him dryly.

"The Alpha vampire is dead," Sam said consideringly. "At least we don't have to worry about the vampire army anymore. All those nests'll probably just go back to regular vamp behaviour."

Dean huffed, unmollified. Everything they'd been through, struggled through … he thrust the too-close memories aside angrily … so that one bunch of dicks could help another bunch of dicks get their house in order? Goddamn it, this was the last time he was doing anything for anyone that didn't come with a hefty pay check, he fumed.

He looked at Castiel. Stupid angel could have been killed by Michael for his part in this latest round. He didn't even seem to notice how close he'd come. He noticed Cas' expression suddenly and knelt beside the angel, his anger washed aside by worry. "Is she alright?"

"She is weak. But the vampire blood is gone," Castiel said slowly, the frown remaining. "She will recover better at your home, I think."

"Before you go, I want to thank you." Peter stood by them. "We will remember your aid in this endeavour. Although the histories of the world may not record our achievements, there are some histories that do."

Dean stood up, looking at him. "Do me a favour, and leave us out of it." He turned and looked down at Ellie's face. "We've had enough of being noticed, we don't need it. We don't want it." He looked back to the mystified face of the church hunter. "We just do better when no one knows about us."

"As you wish." Peter's gaze followed Dean's back to Ellie's face. "Will she recover?"

"Yeah." Dean injected certainty into his voice. "She'll be fine."

"The cure – I haven't come across a cure for a vampire's blood. I would appreciate a copy, if it's not too much trouble."

Dean's mouth twisted slightly. "Old family recipe. Sam'll write it out for you."

"Good hunting, then," Peter held out his hand, and Dean took it, nodding. As the man walked away he dropped to his knees again, lifting Ellie from the floor, shifting her weight in his arms. He looked at Castiel.

"Whenever you're ready."


	61. Chapter 61 Home

**Chapter 61**

* * *

_**Oregon. 1 week later.**_

Ellie looked around the bedroom, filled with morning light and an unfamiliar peace. She'd woken once in the hospital, something flowing down a tube that was attached to her arm, exhaustion filling her so that even opening her eyes had been an almost impossible effort. She didn't remember waking again.

The door opened and she looked across the room as Dean walked in.

"Hey." He smiled, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her.

"Hey. Was I out of it long?"

"'Bout a week now." He looked away. She lifted her hand and turned his face back to her.

"Tell me."

He shrugged, his throat too tight to talk about it now. "Just the usual stuff."

It had been very hard on him, she thought. She wouldn't make it harder right now. "Where're John and Rosie?"

He inhaled deeply, grateful for the change of subject. "They're downstairs. They're dying to see you, but I wanted to make sure you could handle it."

"I think I probably can." She smiled at him. "Everyone else okay?"

"Yeah, same old. Trish had a scare, while we were gone, but she's okay now." He looked down at her hand, resting on the covers. "She's waiting in line to see you too."

"Better go get them, then." Ellie looked at him, wondering at his discomfort, the unease she could feel radiating from him. She would ask later, she thought. Give him time to let it settle down a little.

"Okay." He leaned toward her, his weight on his hand. "You sure you feel up to it?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." She closed the distance between them, and kissed him softly. He pulled away, turning and rising in the same movement, as if he'd meant to do it that way.

"I'll get them. Back in a minute." He didn't look at her again, his gaze fixed to the floor as he walked out.

_What was that?_ Her gaze dropped from the closed door to the bed. The other side was pristine, unused. She'd been ill, of course. And maybe he hadn't wanted to disturb her sleep. But … she didn't think that was it.

She shook off the thoughts as the door burst open again, John racing across the room and leaping onto the bed, Rosie struggling to follow him at her slower pace. She wrapped her arms around them, breathing in deeply as she held their wriggling bodies, both pressing themselves tightly against her.

"We missed you so much, Mommy. Where were you?" John looked up at her, his eyes wide. "Aunty Trish kept saying that you were sick."

"I was sick, baby. Very sick." She looked over his head at Dean. "Didn't Daddy take you to the hospital to see me?"

"He said you were too sick for us to go," John said, his tone vaguely accusing.

"Oh. Well, I guess I was. I wasn't awake, most of the time."

"Are you better now?"

"Yes, much better now." She leaned her cheek against the top of his head, feeling a powerful rush of love for him, overlaid by a deep sense of relief. It had been the biggest fear when she'd woken, that she wouldn't be able to feel anything, that the ancient vampire's blood had stolen that from her forever. The return of her emotions, overwhelming and confusing as they'd been, had been wonderful.

She listened to them and asked them questions until fatigue began to seep into her again. Dean saw it and drew them away, picking up Rosie and taking John's hand as he led them back downstairs. Trish had come up a few minutes later, brushing off her own problems, then Katherine and Dwight. And then she'd slid into sleep again, hearing the door close after them then nothing further.

* * *

She woke three hours later, the last of the afternoon light just coming in the windows, slanting in thick gold bars over the warm wooden boards and the end of the bed. She was hungry, but she couldn't muster the energy to get out of bed, her muscles felt wasted. After the supercharged strength she'd had in Rome, it was both disorienting and depressing to be so weak. On the other hand, she thought dryly, the vampire blood had pushed her physical body well past its normal limits, and that was probably why she felt drained and wasted.

She heard the doorknob turn and looked up, relaxing as Dean walked in.

"I thought you might still be sleeping." He stopped by the end of the bed.

"Just woke now." She tried to wriggle higher against the pillows, tired of talking to people from a supine position. "Any chance of food?"

He smiled and started to turn away.

"Dean."

He stopped, and looked back and she saw the nervous shift of his gaze.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing." He looked down. "It's okay, I just …" He made a vague gesture and looked at the door. "I'll get you something to eat. It won't take long."

She watched him walk out of the room quickly, closing the door behind him. That wasn't nothing. And it wasn't the usual stuff, either. She caught her lip between her teeth, her thoughts churning. Aside from the week in the hospital, she remembered everything that had happened; at least she was pretty sure that she remembered it all. She couldn't think of anything that could account for the nervousness she could see in him. Nervousness of her.

* * *

Dean leaned against the counter in the kitchen, waiting for the soup to reheat. Talya had made the pot earlier that day. The smell rising from it as it warmed on the stove was rich and appetising. The nephilim had told him to give it to Ellie for four days, the transition between the drip-feeding at the hospital and real, solid food meals that she could have once her stomach was used to being filled again.

He closed his eyes, thinking of her face as she'd looked at him in the bedroom. She could see his fear, he knew. She didn't understand it, not yet, but she would keep pushing until she did. He didn't know what to say to her. How to describe what was happening to him, what had been happening since Rome.

He'd thought it would get better, being home, but it hadn't. If anything it was worse. Seeing her in the hospital, he'd kept John and Rosie away, not wanting them to see her so thin, covered in tubes and electrodes, machines beeping and humming around her. For a week the doctors had been vague about her condition, talking about muscle deterioration and organ damage and tissue loss. Then she'd improved and they'd shaken their heads in bewilderment, not knowing what was happening, but no longer mentioning their doubts about her recovery.

The soup was bubbling very gently and he turned off the heat, ladling it into a bowl. He carried the bowl out and back up the stairs.

He watched her as she ate the soup slowly, feeling stiff and uncomfortable and knowing she could see it, those feelings. When she looked at him, he could see the shadows in her eyes.

"That was good." She set the bowl on the nightstand, and shifted against the pillows.

"Talya made it." He nodded, looking out the windows to the view of the wide valley below. "She and Tamsin have been fussing over what to give you since we got home."

Her mouth quirked at the corner. "Bet that impressed the hospital."

He smiled in return, shrugging. She leaned forward and took his hand, and he felt the jolt between them, the odd electrifying tingle that had always been there, whenever they'd touched each other. It sent a chill down his spine, and he looked at her, pulling away gently, her gaze rising to meet his as she let his fingers slip out of hers.

The question in her eyes wrenched at him, and he looked down at the floor, unable to answer it, unwilling to face it. He thought she'd ask, but the silence stretched out between them, and he wondered if she knew what he was feeling, knew and understood. He glanced up, a brief sideways look at her face. Her eyes were lowered, watching her hands as the fingers laced together and broke apart.

In all the time he'd known her, they had never been at a loss in a conversation, had never felt that awkward drop of silence as the words simply dried up. He could feel that now, the quiet room pregnant with all the things that both wanted to ask, wanted to know, but were unable to get out.

He got up reluctantly and reached for the empty bowl, picking it up and hesitating for a moment, looking down at her. She didn't look up, didn't move, and he turned away, feeling helpless and knowing that the silence was making it worse, making everything worse.

* * *

_He walked into the stone chamber, feeling his heart pounding in his chest, his breath catching in his throat, his eyes adjusting to the dimness as he looked around. She was sitting on a chair by a long table, hunched over, her hair loose and falling like a curtain over her face. For a moment, he was able to convince himself that nothing had changed, nothing had happened, everything was all right. Then she lifted her head, and her hair fell back and he saw the smooth, marble-like skin, and the deep red in her eyes and his guts turned to ashes and dust._

_When she stood up and walked toward him, he wanted to scream, to wake up, but he couldn't because this nightmare played out the same way every time. He could feel his arm lifting, the weight of the machete in his hand. He could see the way she focussed on the long, heavy blade, and her lips drew back from a mouth filled with long, sharp teeth, her hands rising from her sides, the fingers curled, the nails long, slightly curved, like the claws of an animal._

_He couldn't stop himself from stepping forward to meet her. Couldn't stop the blade from lifting and swinging outward. Couldn't stop himself from twisting on the last stride between them, both hands gripping the sharkskin hilt, his weight balanced on one foot. Couldn't block out the singing hiss of the metal as it split the air, or the deep thud as it met her skin, the impact jarring his wrists, but still cutting through, through tendon and muscle and bone and blood vessels, sending a spray of blood across the room as it emerged on the other side of her neck, the cold blood from her arteries gushed over his hands._

_He watched her head lift and arc across the room, long copper-bright hair twisting like a pennant behind it, his stomach heaving as he heard the crack of the skull when it hit the stone floor, then the screaming started behind him, and he turned, knowing what he'd see, his children standing in the doorway, staring at him, mouths open wide, high child's shrieks tearing out of their throats._

_And he dropped to his knees beside her cold body, his vision greying out, retching helplessly over and over again, wanting to die, unable to._

He jacknifed upright, the whoop of his indrawn breath resounding in the room, throwing the covers aside and swinging his legs out to lean hunched over on the edge of the bed. He was soaked in sweat and chilled to the bone, and his stomach was heaving, his body shaking with reaction, with the vivid images that were still in his mind.

He couldn't make it stop, not by drinking, not with pills, not by driving himself to exhaustion. He'd tried everything he could think of, and still when sleep came, as it had to eventually, the scenario would play out in his dreams and he would come awake, either to the echoes of his scream in the room, or the feel of it jammed tight in his throat, unable to breathe.

As his body slowly stopped shaking, his stomach slowly returned to a more settled state, he straightened slightly, wiping his hands over his face. He couldn't look at Ellie without seeing those images, couldn't touch her without knowing that later, whatever closeness and comfort they could share would be used against him when he lived in that dream, his heart ripping apart inside his chest as the heavy blade swung.

Tamsin had made tisanes to take away the dreams, but none of them lasted through the night and even when she'd brewed them so strong that he'd had difficulty getting them down, still before dawn's first light, the dream would come and he would die a bit more.

It didn't seem to matter how much he logicked his thoughts. She was alive. She was herself again. She hadn't killed. Hadn't fed. Was still his. The words were almost meaningless after so many repetitions and the dream still came. He got up, walking out of the room and along the hall to the bathroom. Stripping out of his soaked clothes, he let the tap run, splashing handfuls of water over his face and neck, washing away the sour smell of his sweat, filled with the fear that he could still feel, crackling distantly along his nerve endings.

He walked back to the bedroom, the guest bedroom on the other side of the house. He hadn't wanted to disturb her sleep, at first. Now he slept there because he couldn't bear being so close to her, couldn't bear the thought of lying next to her while he was dreaming of killing her.

He stripped down the sheets and tossed them next to the door, picking up a clean set and throwing them loosely over the bed. He couldn't try for more sleep. Sometimes he got it again.

"_Make sure that I can't hurt anyone. Promise."_

He'd promised, telling himself it wouldn't come to that. When he'd looked down at the guards, lying on the floor of the stone chamber, that promise had reached out to close its hands around his heart. He rolled over onto his side, staring at the wall. He could've faced anything, he thought, except that. And he hadn't had to … but the fear of it, the thought of it, wouldn't leave him alone.

* * *

_**Oregon. 3 weeks later.**_

Ellie stretched out and jumped, catching the lower bar firmly, feeling the pull in her muscles and the beginnings of an ache. She was hurrying, she knew, to get fit again, to get strong again, but it wouldn't do her any good to overdo it now. She lifted her legs and swung, the momentum of her body weight taking her around in a half-circle, legs drawing in and stretching out as she let go of the bar and caught the higher one.

The gymnastics exercises were strengthening. Yoga was giving her some suppleness again. In another couple of weeks, she would start training properly.

She twisted her body, swivelling in the air and catching the bar again, swinging up and over it, and rolling forward in a slow somersault to land on the mat beneath, balanced on both feet. The impact was jarring and she frowned slightly, thinking about what she could to strengthen her ankles and knees. She turned from the bars and walked back to the long table that stood by the door, picking up her towel and wiping the sheen of perspiration from her face and neck. The slight noise from the doorway made her start, turning fast to look.

Dean stood there, hands in the pockets of his jacket, his gaze dropping as she looked at him. "That looked good."

She shrugged, putting the towel down and pulling on a sweatshirt. "It's getting there. If I go too fast, I'll regret it later."

The wall between them was immense and they'd been trapped on their respective sides of it for too long now. There was nothing she could do about it, in any case. He'd seen her turn into a monster. She wasn't sure how much or in what way that had affected him, had changed the way he felt, but from the way he was now, she thought it had been considerable. She couldn't change what he'd seen. She hoped that with enough time it might change, that he might remember what they'd had.

"Uh … Sam and Trish are heading down the coast for a couple of days, wanted to know if John and Rosie could go along with them. They thought they'd just hang out at the beach for the weekend."

Ellie leaned on the table for a moment, her back to him. "Are you going?"

"No. Just the kids." He made a small noise in his throat, and she looked over her shoulder at him.

"Unless, you'd rather I went."

"No." She turned and leaned back against the table. "Just wondered if you wanted to get away for a couple of days."

He looked at her blankly and she picked up the towel and walked toward him. "It's okay with me."

She noticed him move back against the door jamb as she passed by, turning her shoulder to ensure that she didn't brush against him. They were functioning, after a fashion, she supposed, polite, considerate with each other. The rest was kept hidden. She wanted to scream at him, to make him listen to her, but she recognised that there wasn't much point. He couldn't change the way he felt, no matter how illogical and unfair the feelings might seem to her. She would have to wait it out. She hadn't thought about how long it might take.

* * *

Dean pressed hard back against the jamb, seeing her twist to avoid touching him. He closed his eyes as she passed him, her scent, rising from her warm skin, enveloping him in the seconds it took her to move by.

Why had she thought he would want to get away? He had to be here, he couldn't leave her alone.

They were barely speaking now, their interactions cordial and polite. He was pretty sure she knew how he was feeling – knew what he felt. She was careful to look past him, to not meet his eyes, and he'd felt her withdrawal, gaining distance every day.

The nightmares still plagued him, and if Ellie had noticed that there were sheets on the line every morning, she hadn't mentioned it. Not touching each other, in the course of day-to-day life had become an artform, a matter of moving one after the other, never together, of sensing and anticipating where and when and how each one of them would move and avoiding being in the same area of space. She was right here, in the same house, and he'd never missed her more than he did now.

He followed her slowly down the hallway, hesitating as she turned to go upstairs, then going into the living room to give Sam the go-ahead. He wondered if they would speak to each other at all while John and Rosie were away. Probably not, he thought morosely, unless someone came by and they had to be in the same room, giving at least the appearance of things being normal.

* * *

Ellie walked up the stairs, and turned into the bathroom, dropping the towel in the hamper and stripping off her clothes. The hot water beat down on her, taking some of the ache and tension from her body, but not all of it. Seeing his revulsion when she came close, how hard he tried to not touch her, not even brush against her, was grinding her down. She checked her gums obsessively in the mirror each morning and before she went to bed, wondering if he was still seeing some part of her that was different from the woman she'd been before. She looked down at her hands, thin and wiry, the nails clipped short. In her memories, there was an image of them, curled around his neck, the nails long and curved and she'd struggled to change them back to the hands she knew, not those pale predator's talons.

She put her palms against the tiled wall, leaning on them, and stood under the spray, pulling in a deep breath. It was getting harder to give him time and space, not easier. She wondered if they would speak at all while the children were away, and thought not. It would have been easier if he'd gone as well, not there at all rather than there but not-there, not-speaking, not-sharing, not-touching.

Turning off the taps, she stepped out of the shower and started to dry off, staring in the mirror above the sink. She was still a bit thin, but otherwise she looked, to herself, the same as she'd always looked. She peered closer, trying to see what he might be seeing. Her eyes were clear, a little sadder, but there was nothing physically different about them. She lifted her upper lip and stared at the gums, remembering where the second set of teeth had come down, seeing nothing there now but pink flesh. Her skin was creamy, no longer white and no longer with that hard, statue-like sheen. She stepped back and turned away, drying her hair. Whatever it was that he was seeing, it was in his head, she thought with a stab of pain, where she couldn't refute it.

* * *

They sat at either end of the dining table, eating in silence. Dean glanced up frequently, watching her in flashes, a form of self-torture that he thought he'd almost perfected. For the last couple of weeks, she'd been almost expressionless when they'd been in the same room, as if she hadn't noticed what was going on, or more likely, he thought, as if she was letting him be, waiting for him. He picked up his glass and washed down his food, using the opportunity to look at her again. She was still looking down at her plate, but there was a small line between her brows now.

He knew that line. It appeared when she was thinking something through, or making a decision, and the sight of it now made his heart drop. If she'd been waiting for him to tell her what was going on, she might have finished waiting. He ate faster, keeping his attention on his dinner.

"Can I ask you something?" Ellie's voice was low, and tentative.

He looked up reluctantly. "Sure."

"In New Hampshire, when I confronted Remy … after he'd shifted … he said something about Seattle." She wasn't looking at him, her gaze fixed on her glass, and he knew suddenly what the witch had told her.

She looked up at him, catching him before he could drop his gaze. "He said that you had a child with the woman you slept with."

Of all the conversations he'd imagined having with her in the last few weeks, this was one he hadn't thought of. He looked down at his plate, his breath leaving in a long, slow sigh.

"Yeah." He pushed the plate aside, and looked up again. "It wasn't – she wasn't human, and the girl wasn't human. Emma – my – the girl – she grew in three days, from a baby to a teenager. On the third day, she came to kill me, and Sam killed her."

It was a piss-poor explanation of a time and an event that he'd had little understanding of and had regretted bitterly for a lot of reasons, not the least of which the effect it had had on his relationship with the woman sitting across from him. He still wasn't sure if Emma had come to him for genuine help or not. He couldn't think about it because she'd been a monster and he needed to believe that his brother had been right to kill her.

Ellie nodded, picking up her glass and looking at the liquid it held. "So you thought it wasn't important enough to mention?"

He winced inwardly at the edge in her voice. "No, I didn't tell you because I didn't want to keep bringing up Seattle."

"Oh." She stared at the glass fixedly.

"I'm sorry, Ell–" he started to say.

"No. You know what? It's fine." She put down the glass abruptly, the wine in it slopping up over the rim onto the table, and stood up, picking up her plate and walking out of the room with it.

He watched her go, not sure if he should follow her or not. He didn't want to have a real conversation, although he thought he should have known that the two of them alone for the first time in weeks would have to have resulted in some of the tension between them coming out. He started when he heard the crash of breaking china coming from the kitchen, shoving back his chair and half-running out of the room.

Ellie stood looking at the broken plate pieces that littered the floor in front of her. Dean stopped in the doorway, looking at the expression on her face, an odd mix of relief and fear.

"Ellie."

She looked up at him, and the expression vanished. "I'm not a monster, Dean. I'm still me. There's nothing left of his blood in me."

He blinked at the words. "I – I know that."

A frown drew her brows together. "Then what did I do?"

"What?"

"You can't look at me, you can't bear to come close to me or touch me – what did I do that was so wrong?"

He stared at her, feeling the world tilt sickeningly under his feet. She'd thought – oh, sweet fuck, she'd thought he still saw her as a monster.

"Nothing, you didn't do anything wrong." He dragged in a deep breath. "That's not – it's not because of that."

She was looking at him and he could see her throat working, her eyes getting brighter. He shook his head, he needed time to get his head around what was happening, and he had the feeling he wasn't going to get any time, it was going to have to be now … or she would go.

"I can't get it out of my head," he said, looking away. "I can't stop seeing the way it might have happened, what I would've had to do – to you."

He could see she hadn't been expecting that either. The line was back between her brows as she stared at him. It had been a long time since they'd had this much trouble knowing what the other was feeling, neither of them was used to it, expecting understanding and not even considering how things could be screwed up when they were both feeling so vulnerable and alone.

"We saw the guards the Alpha took, Ellie. That's why Sam tried to – it's why I didn't stop him straight away – we both thought – it doesn't matter now, but I kept thinking about having to do it, and then having to tell the kids what I'd done, how you'd died – and now, I can't stop it, I can't stop thinking about it, I keep having the same nightmare, and if I try – when I want to be close to you, it makes it worse, I feel worse, it feels like I'm going to die …" he trailed off, looking at her face, knowing it had been incoherent, hoping she'd get it because he couldn't get any more out.

"Why didn't you say something? Weeks ago?" The frown deepened as she absorbed the jumbled explanation.

He looked away helplessly. "I didn't know how to. And, when you – you seemed to understand – I didn't know that you were thinking something else."

She stepped back and leaned up against the counter behind her, her eyes closing. He couldn't tell if it was in frustration or relief. He was slightly surprised to find that he felt lighter having gotten it out. It had always been that way, no matter how bad his thoughts were, when he told her about them, the burden was halved. He should've told her, as soon as she'd woken, but he hadn't wanted to worry her, had wanted her to get well, to get back to normal.

"It was the promise, wasn't it?" She looked at him. "Making you promise to do it."

"Maybe a part of it was. I knew I'd have to do it, if it came to it, Ellie. I didn't realise then that there was no way I could do it. Sam knew, but not me."

"I'm sorry. I should never have made you promise that anyway." She shook her head. "I couldn't have done it, the other way around, Dean. There's just no way I could've."

The admission, as simple as it was, hit him with the same impact as one of Colt's bullets – penetrating deeply and lighting him up inside – loosening a part of him that had been tightly clenched from the moment he'd realised he couldn't do it.

"It didn't hit me – I didn't have to think of it properly, until we saw the guards." He dragged in a breath, memory rising of the sprawled bodies, the ripped out throats and the lack of blood. "I don't know why neither of us thought of the Alpha. We both just thought you'd fed and that it was –" he stopped, his chest tight because that had been the precise moment, the moment he'd thought he was going to have to kill his wife. "The image got stuck in my head. And even when we got back, I couldn't get it out."

"Are you afraid it's always going to be like this, Dean?" She took a step closer to him and he felt the automatic reaction to back away, his jaw tightening against it.

"I don't know." He looked at her. "Maybe, it can happen."

"Yeah. It can," she acknowledged readily. "What do you want to do about that?"

He shook his head. "What can I do?"

"Deal with it." She looked into his eyes. "Or bail."

"I can't bail." He looked down into hers, still feeling the impulse to turn away, resisting it. "I won't."

"No."

He could feel her coming to a decision, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know what it was. He looked down at the broken china scattered over the floor. "You want me to clean this up?"

"No."

He looked at her, and she walked past him to the door, turning back as she reached it. "Come on, we have something else we need to do."

He followed her slowly out of the kitchen, down to the living room, wondering what she had in mind. Whatever it was, it wasn't going to be easy, he thought nervously.

She stopped in the middle of the room, facing him. "Come here."

He walked up to her, stopping a couple of feet away. Ellie looked down at the distance between them and her mouth twisted slightly. She gripped the bottom of the long-sleeved shirt she wore and pulled it up, over her head. Dean looked down at her, wetting his lips as he saw the fine, lacy bra underneath, her nipples already hard against the material.

"Ellie – I don't think I can–," he said, feeling his heart flutter against his ribs, heat uncoiling inside his body.

"I'm not asking, Dean." She let her jeans fall to the floor, stepping out of them, and reached behind her, undoing the clasp of the bra and drawing the straps off her shoulders.

He stood in front of her, feeling desire race in tighter circles through him as she shed her panties and pulled the band from her hair, looking into his eyes.

"Touch me."

He heaved in a deep breath and shook his head. "I can't – it makes the nightmare worse –"

"It won't this time." She looked up at him. "Trust me."

He stepped hesitantly closer, his fingers brushing over her shoulder, the skin feeling like silk beneath their tips. He let out the breath he'd been holding in a series of shudders and lifted both hands, running them over the curves of her breasts, feeling the corrugations of her ribs, the inward sweep of her waist, his eyes closing, and his heart started to pound as the sensations, and the memories, filled him up.

"Look at me."

He opened his eyes and looked down at her, bending to brush his lips over hers, as her arms stretched up to encircle his neck. The kiss deepened immediately, and he groaned, picking her up and backing to the couch behind him, half-collapsing into it when he felt the edge at the back of his calves. He leaned forward a little, struggling out of his shirt, feeling her hands slide down the bare flesh of his chest as he ripped it off, then lifting her to onto the couch, his fingers fumbling with the button and fly of his jeans as he kissed the long curve of her neck.

* * *

They lay together in the big bed, Ellie curled close against his side. He felt deeply relaxed, every muscle, every joint, soft and loose, his heart beating quietly, his mind quiescent and peaceful.

"How'd you know?" He looked down at her, his arm tightening around her slightly.

"PD," she murmured softly, her voice slurred with the outriders of sleep. "You were afraid of what might have been, not what actually happened. You can't get around that, can't go over or under it. You have to go straight through, face it head on, or it never goes, just gets stronger and stronger."

He nodded slightly. It had been doing that, he realised. He breathed in deeply, savouring her scent, the summery smell of the bed linen, the faint, clean smell of their sweat. She shifted against him, settling her head into the hollow of his shoulder and he let out the breath, his eyes closing. He searched his mind for any remnant of the images that had tortured him, and found none. He thought he would be okay to sleep tonight.

* * *

_**Oregon. Nine weeks later.**_

Sam threw the file down on the table, glancing over his shoulder at his brother as he went to the coffee pot to get a cup.

"Black Hills. Four men, throats torn out, hearts missing."

Dean opened the file, skimming over the police reports and flipping past the photos as he looked for the coroner's report. Ellie stood behind him, leaning past his shoulder to read.

"Last attack, September 28," she read, looking up at Sam who was carrying his cup back to the table carefully. "Full moon."

"Werewolf!" Sam grinned, looking down at Dean. His face fell as he realised he wasn't going to get the response he'd been expecting. "Come on, I thought you loved hunting werewolves, freak animal killing machine by moonlight, silver bullets – the whole nine yards?"

"Yeah, I might pass on this one, Sammy." Dean closed the file and leaned back in the chair, feeling Ellie's hand tighten fractionally around his shoulder.

Ellie looked over his head at Sam and shook her head slightly.

"Oh. Okay. Uh … I'll get Twist and Chaz then." He sipped his coffee, staring at the file.

Ellie nodded. "Dwight located any ghost activity lately? A simple salt'n'burn would fit in better right now."

"I'll check it out." He looked up at her, his forehead creasing. "Um … Trish wants to know if you have some time to go maternity shopping with her?"

"Yeah, today'd be fine." She leaned forward, her arm slipping down Dean's chest as she kissed him lightly on the brow. "I'll walk back with you."

Dean tilted his head back, catching her hand as she straightened and moved back. "Don't be all day." He smiled upside down at her, one side of his mouth higher than the other.

She laughed and shrugged, going to the hall to get her coat. Sam swallowed his coffee and picked up the file, looking at his brother curiously for a moment then turning away.

They were halfway back to Sam's house when he looked at her. "What is it?"

"Just leftovers from the Alpha business, Sam." Ellie pushed her hands into her pockets, looking at the drifts of fallen leaves that lined the narrow road. "Werewolf bite is fatal – no cure, nothing to do but kill the monster." She glanced up at him. "Dean's not ready to face that again so soon."

He thought about it, and realised what she meant, memory flooding back of his brother's anguish in Rome. "Oh, yeah. Okay." He hesitated for a moment, chewing the side of his lip. "Was it very bad?"

"Bad enough," she said softly. "It hit him in the place that he doesn't have much armour, Sam. He needs time to heal, to get some scar tissue."

Sam looked up at the half-bare trees above them. "Will he be okay?"

"Yes. By next winter, he'll be past it." She took a deep breath of the crisp fall air. "In the meantime, we'll take the cases that aren't going to push those buttons."

"Dwight has a pile on his desk about two feet high. I'll sort through them." He promised, and they turned up the gravelled drive together, Ellie waving as she caught sight of Trish at the door.

* * *

_Who looks outside, dreams. Who looks inside, awakens.__  
__~ Carl Jung_

* * *

**END**


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